Waiting
by mylittlelifedoesntcountatall
Summary: When Seth Rollins gets ditched by his so-called 'friends', he meets a homeless boy named Dean Ambrose. Little did they know they would change each other's lives. BxB. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

**So, I'm writing a new fanfic and I've actually a really good plan for it so I'm really excited. It's Ambrollin. In the end, but theres a lot of cute moments for a lot of pairings so ya know, read it! I have to say the people in it are kinda out of character, but oh well I like it anyway! **

**Oh yeah, the whole story is told from Seths PoV but I'll remind you every chapter just in case you're wondering! So anyway, here is Chapter one!**

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**SETH'S POV**

My hands were so cold. It was really warm in the Subway restaurant but my hands were still freezing. No one around me seemed the tiniest bit cold. They didn't seem to notice me at all. They were all talking and joking and laughing. I sat there staring intently at my hands.

I wondered for the millionth time why I put myself through , every single week, did I come out with all these awful people who just ignored me? I always convince myself it would be different. I thought maybe I'd have fun for once.

But there I was, like every other week, squashed between my brother and the dirty wall. I cursed my brother silently. He was the one who convinced me to come out with him and these people every single Friday._ 'You'll have fun,' _he said. I snorted quietly under my breath.

"Why aren't you talking, Seth?"

The voice of the devil suddenly pierced through my thoughts. The high pitched screech of Maryse Oullet. She was French, or something like that, and had possibly the most annoying voice in the world. She was a sophomore, one year younger than me, and she never left me alone. Not because she liked me or anything- because she liked to criticise me. Everything about her annoyed me. From her bleached blonde hair, to her annoying voice which drove me absolutely insane every time I heard it.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just listening." She narrowed her eyes, but before she had a chance to reply, Dolph Ziggler spoke up.

"Hey, guys, wanna go back to my house to hang out?" Dolph was probably the nicest guy in the group. Despite being extremely cocky, he had a big heart, and nearly every week, we would all go back to his house for a while. Even though I usually didn't have a very good time, I always thanked him sincerely before I left with my brother.

"Yeah, sure," All eight members of the group (excluding me) said together, and began to stand up and shuffle out of the grubby booth.

There was only one guy- Mike Mizanin- in the group who had a license so he was the only one who could drive across town to Dolph's house.

We all went outside to Mike's red Ford Fiesta, which only held five people. There were nine people in the group. You do the maths. Kaitlyn, a pretty sophomore who was nice enough but I hated because she was friends with Maryse, suggested that some people could go in the boot, which was big enough. So she, Maryse and this girl Aj hopped in, and everyone else piled in the car. Eight people in the car, nine people in the group. Guess who got to stay behind?

As I watched my 'friends' drive away, I had a sudden urge to throw a rock at the stupid car, right through the back window. I didn't need this. I had friends, real friends, who wouldn't leave me behind because there wasn't enough room. Roman, Phil and John always told me not to hang out with these guys, but for some reason I never listened to them and always ended up feeling like shit afterwards.

I wandered to the side of the ugly building, and sat down next to an alley. I checked the time on my phone. It was only four o'clock. John was still at work, and Phil would probably be babysitting for Romans little sisters, while Roman slept. I sighed to myself. That meant none of them would be able to pick me up for a while.

I rested my head against the brick wall, and sighed, wondering what kind of idiot goes out with people he knows are going to ignore him, and doesn't bring their car as a back-up plan. I closed my eyes and wished I was somewhere else. Hawaii, maybe. I heard it was nice there, and it definitely wouldn't get as much rain as Washington did.

I sat there for the longest fifteen minutes of my life, before I finally texted Phil, who texted back a load of horrible shit about the people who ditched me. He told me that as soon as Roman woke up, he'd get him to come pick me up. Wouldn't want to wake him from his beauty sleep.

"You look upset." I jumped and turned around to see a guy, probably around my age, sitting in the alley. He had sandy brown hair which looked as if it hadn't been washed in along time. His clothes were pretty much in the same condition; his old jeans were torn and muddy, and his black jumper had one sleeve missing.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, flipping a penny over at me. I caught it in one hand, still staring at the boy who was sitting mere feet away.

"Em, who are you?" I asked, uncertainly. My dad worked with underprivileged kids, and had drilled stranger danger into me from a young age.

He shook his head. "Pretty sure I asked you a question first."

"No," I said, beginning to get over the initial shock of being scared to death by astramge boy in an alleyway. "You said 'penny for your thoughts' which isn't a question."

"Ah, so I did," he said, with half a smile. "Well, anyway, I think I know what's wrong. Those people who just left had something to do with it, I presume?" When I nodded, he continued. "Well then, it's pretty clear that you are some alien life form who obviously comes in peace, but they just can't handle the awesomeness of your extraterrestrial existence, so they left you here and you're now using that phone of yours to communicate with your people who are going to help you plot a fantastic revenge that will affect the human race negatively for years, much like radiation."

"Close, actually. See there's this cyborg called Maryse, and you know it's bad when she has an awful name like Maryse, and she's brainwashing everyone so that they all become her followers even though she's trying to take over the world. She's starting with all those guys from earlier. I'm the sole survivor."

"Woah, intense. And I thought I was the only one left with an imagination."

"Well if your still have an imagination left, it means she hasn't gotten to you yet."

"Thank God," he nodded at my phone. "So who were you talking to, if not some amazing alien race?"

"My friend Phil. And he's actually my friend. Not some cyborg-following, imagination-less alien-hater like all those other guys."

"Well, sounds like you should be with him instead of all those other guys. Why aren't you?"

"Because he's babysitting my other friends' sisters, while that friend sleeps in the middle of the day 'cos he's a cool kid."

"Sweet," he said with a grin. "I do that sometimes. Good way to pass the time."

"I don't doubt it." I said. "So what's your name?"

"Dean," he said. "You?"

I felt like this part of our conversation belonged in a kindergarten classroom.

"Seth," I responded.

"Seth. That's a nice name."

"Can't say I'm too fond of it."

He smirked. "That's because everyone hates their own name."

"See, that's one of the many places where my opinion differs from everyone else's. I do not only hate my own name, I hate all names."

"For real?"

"Yup. I think we should just go by numbers. Lot simpler, and that way, you don't have to be worried about being called Constsance, or something like that."

He laughed. "Pretty sure no one's actually called Constance."

"My mother's name is Constance."

"I stand corrected."

"That you do."

I wondered why I'd never met this guy before. He seemed around my age, and I'd definitely never seen him at school before. Or around town. Or even in the bowling allege where I worked and I'd seen pretty much seen everyone there at one time or another. Then again, the way his clothes looked along with his overall appearance seemed to answer this question pretty well.

"Do you live around here?" I asked, glancing at him through the corner of my eye.

He looked down. "Uh, now, I do,"

"Where'd you live before?"

"Jacksonville." He answered. "In Florida." He added, when it became pretty clear I had no idea where Jacksonville was.

"Sweet. Why'd you move to an awful place like Washington?"

He didn't look at me when he answered. "Change of scenery, I 'spose,"

Just then, a horn blasted and a rusty White Bentley pulled up on the curb in front of us. There are two rather significant things about Roman and his car.

The first is that Roman's used-to-be-white-and-shiny car is now basically a piece of scrap metal on wheels. It was a miracle in itself that the car still ran. The two doors in the back didn't open, and the passengers door creaked loudly whenever it was touched. As well as that, the air conditioning didn't work, which made it nearly impossible to bear in the stuffy summers.

The second thing is Roman's actual driving. He pretty much ignored all signs, lights and speed limits, and just drove how he felt like driving, regardless of his surroundings. Willingly getting into a car with him could probably be considered suicide.

Roman rolled down his window. "Hey, Seth! Prince Charming be here to rescue you!" He yelled, and I laughed slightly.

"Hey, Seth!" Phil called, mocking Roman's voice. "Guess who nearly died because of Prince Charming's driving!"

"To be fair, Prince Charming doesn't exactly have the best noble steed." I said, standing up. "And the brakes are a totally new concept to him."

Roman rolled his eyes. "Get in. If you're good, I'll stay within twenty miles of the speed limit."

I turned to face Dean. "I guess I'll see you later then?"

"I hope so," he answered from the ground.

I went around to the passenger side of the car. Together, Phil and I forced the door open and he slid over so I could share the seat with him.

"You know that's illegal, right?" Roman asked.

"You're the one who'd get in trouble," I pointed out.

"Exactly, so who even cares?" Phil agreed. "Plus it's not like you don't break every single driving law known to the world. Seriously, you should go to England. Then you'd actually be on the correct side of the road for once," Turning to me, he said, "So who was that guy you were with?"

"His name's Dean," I told him. "I just met him now."

"That's odd," Roman commented. "You'd think in this part of town everyone would know the lone hobo."

"You think he's homeless?" I asked.

"Did you see him? There's no way he looks like that and actually lives somewhere."

"Either way, he was cute," Phil added. Phil and I were openly gay, so we joked about guys all of the time. Roman, on the other hand, was straight while John was bisexual. It never really bothered any of us about all of our sexualities, because we've known each other for so long that it would be weird if we had feelings for one another. Except there was an exception for Phil, who had a massive open crush on John. It had gone on for so long, though, that none of us really took it seriously.

I nodded in agreement. We stopped at a red light and I turned around. I could see Dean off in the distance, sitting in the same spot. It was about then that I realized I was still holding the penny he'd tossed to me. I looked down at the penny. There was nothing special about it at all. It wasn't shiny, but it wasn't too dirty. It was just a penny. I looked back again as Roman slammed on the gas pedal. I could see Dean get up and turn back into the alley, disappearing from view.

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**Woo woo! So that was the first chapter! And I have to say it was actually pretty long! so that was it! Review please. Follow and favourite **

**Ciara x **


	2. Chapter 2

**So here is chapter two! I'm actually really excited for this story and I have good plans for it! Thank you all for reviewing, favouriting and following! Six reviews, four follows and three favourites after only one chapter! That's actually amazing, thank you so much!**

**And in reply to the guest who reviewed, yes, the John I'm talking about is John Cena! Also, I'm making up all their families, so they're all fake and any relations to real life is completely coincidental. Oh, and Seth's cousin in this is kinda based on Beth Phoenix, but she's not too much of a major character, so just imagine her how you like.**

**Without further ado, here's the chapter!**

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On Saturday night, Roman came over with his two little sisters, ten-year-old Salia and eight-year-old Trinity. Roman constantly had to babysit because his parents were always working. His mom was a gynecologist and his dad worked as a diagnostician for rare and unusual cases and in addition he was a surgeon, so they were both constantly being called into work, while his other sister, Alexa, was always out, thus making him the designated in-house babysitter, which was something he didn't usually mind. When he had to babysit he usually just hung out with Phil, John and me.

Sometimes though, he needed a change of scenery, which was how we ended up spending our Saturday night at my house, having a Sherlock marathon while Salia and Trinity drew quietly sitting on the floor.

About two episodes in, my mom and dad came downstairs looking slightly more dressed up than usual. Roman paused the TV.

"Hey guys," Paul, my dad, said. "We're off to dinner. Give a call if you need anything."

"We'll be fine," I assured him. To my mother, I said, "Don't keep him out past his bedtime, Constance."

"Don't worry dear, I have an alarm set on my phone," She winked at me. "Also, I'm leaving some money and a cupcake order on the table. I need you to run out and get milk and cereal, and then place an order for a few dozen cupcakes at Strobe Bakery."

I groaned. About three weeks ago, my 20 year old cousin, Beth, informed us that she was engaged to this poor sap she'd been dating for the last two years. I wouldn't have minded much, but first of all, I couldn't stand Beth. She was bossy, whiney, annoying and so high maintenance.

Second of all, her mother—my aunt—had convinced her that waiting until next year to get married was silly. So now, the wedding was set for the end of July, which was only three months away.

Constance and her best friend, Annette, planned weddings and they were ecstatic when Beth asked them to plan hers. Unfortunately, my mom had recruited me to help.

"Do I have to?" I asked, referring to the errands my mother had just asked me to run. "Why can't she just do it herself? It's her stupid wedding."

"Seth, this is the most important day of her life," Constance objected. "All I'm asking for is a little assistance."

"Huh," Roman said. "I always thought assistants did the assisting. What happened to Annette?"

"She's swamped! She's been working on the colour scheme all day with Kimberly," she answered, referring to Beth's mom. "I think I'd die without her."

"She's better at picking out cupcakes than me," I insisted. "Plus why do you need them now if the weddings not until midsummer?"

"Because the wedding's in midsummer!" Constance exclaimed. "This is such short notice! Ugh I wish Kimberly would have just been reasonable and pushed it back a little further—"

"Ok!" Paul interjected. "Kids, we're going now. Seth, do what you're told and I'll give you petrol money for the next six months."

"Sold," I said. The money I made at the bowling alley I worked at only went so far.

"The details about everything are on the counter," Constance said as Paul pulled her out the door. "Get there early! I mean it!"

"I'm glad Annette still works with your mom," Roman said. "She's the future mother of my children."

"She's 23," I reminded him.

He shrugged. "It's only a five year difference."

"So true," I said. "Do you guys wanna come with me to go to the store?"

"Only if you promise we can finish our Shelock marathon after," Roman answered. "I seriously don't think he'll be able to solve this one."

"Don't doubt Sherlock," I warned. "You're just setting yourself up for disappointment."

We strapped Salia and Trinity into their car seats in Roman's Bentley. I bribed him to let me drive by promising them all ice cream.

I ended up dropping them off at the store (with money for ice cream) to get the stuff my mom wanted so I could run over to Strobe quickly. Strobe Bakery was a place my mother visited frequently because of her wedding planning forte. It was a bakery that made pastries specifically for fancy events like church functions and weddings. It was all extravagant and disgustingly overpriced.

A cranky looking man was standing at the counter when I walked in. I handed him all the stuff Constance had given me about what kind of cupcakes she wanted. I figured it was better he lost his eyesight from trying to read her scribbling than me.

The guy furrowed his brow as he read it over. "This is a big order to have finished in three months. This isn't Wal-mart, you know."

"I am well aware this is not Wal-mart," I answered. "If it was, you'd probably have a hell of a lot more customers. But if you don't want to do it, do you think you could call my mother and let her know?"

The man gave me a look of annoyance. "I'll look this over and see what I can do. Expect a call later this week."

I walked outside. The night was warm with a slight breeze. If I didn't have to go get Rome, I might have stayed for a while there, just enjoying the warmth and the lack of winter.

Suddenly, there was a crashing noise from the dumpster on the end of the parking lot. I heard a low groan of what I could only describe as pain. I froze where I was. I had a sudden flashback to when I was watching a horror movie with Phil. The main character was a stupid girl who heard a noise from her basement and decided to go investigate. I remembered how stupid I thought she was. Why wouldn't she just get out of her house and call the police? That's what any able-minded person would have done. Besides, that way she would have saved herself the trouble of being brutally murdered.

And yet…here I was in the exact situation, only I wasn't reaching for my phone and running away. I was facing the dumpster. I took a step towards it. Then another. Suddenly, I was walking towards it. I cautiously approached the large green dumpster. There was a quiet whimper from the ground in front of it. A figure laid there hunched over with their head down.

"Uh, are you ok?" I asked, hoping these wouldn't be my last words.

The guy's head shot up and I found myself staring into the eyes of none other than the boy I'd met outside the Subway yesterday. He had a gash on the side of his cheek from which blood leaked out of. He was dressed in the exact same clothes I'd seen him in before.

He had a look of sadness and fear on his face. Embarrassment filled his eyes as they darted around frantically. "Oh, uh…hey…what's up?"

"Not much," I said, my voice no more than a faint sound. I sat down by him. "You?"

"Oh you know…the usual…"

"Huh."

"Yup."

Silence.

He took a deep breath. "A man walked into a bar and said 'ouch.'"

"What?"

"I'm breaking the tension."

"Of course you are."

"Yep."

"Are you ok?"

"Better than ever."

"Do you need a place to stay?"

He looked at me. "What?"

I'd surprised myself by asking more than I think I surprised him. "Come over."

He cracked a smile. "You don't even know me."

"You don't know me either. But you haven't said no yet."

"I could be a murderer," He said.

"Murder me," I said.

He grinned. "Caught my bluff."

I pulled him to his feet and led him to Roman's car. Once we were in, Dean said, "So are you really not going to ask me what I'm doing by a garbage can in the dark by myself while I bleed to death all over your car?"

"It's not really my business," I said with a shrug. "Plus this isn't my car, so feel free to bleed all over."

He laughed. "As if I could control it." Then his voice got more serious. "Look…um, thanks for…this. I know you know that I don't have a place to go…so just thanks."

"It's no problem," I said.

We picked up Roman then. He had no objections to some stranger sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Then again, he might not have even noticed seeing as he was all hyped up on sugar from the large tub of ice cream he'd gotten.

When we got back to my house, Roman took his sisters into the kitchen where they decided that they would make brownies. Because really, what else can you do after eating a pint of ice cream?

I led Dean upstairs. On the way he looked at everything, pausing every few minutes to stare at a picture, the ceiling, some random spot on the wall that I didn't think held any significance.

"I can't stay…I should go," he said.

"Big plans tonight?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. Partying it up with all the other hobos. It's a fun time."

"I don't doubt it," I said. "How about you clean up first. Then you can decide what you want to do," he still looked reluctant so I added, "If anything, you'll be the cleanest one at your homeless people shindig."

"Alright," he said, smiling at me. "Thanks."

I went back down to the kitchen, only to be greeted by a face full of brownie batter.

"Isn't it good?!" Roman asked.

"I don't know, Rome. My cheek is having a hard time tasting it what with the lack of taste buds and such."

"So how's the hobo!"

I think he meant for it to be a question, but it came out like a loud, excited announcement. And it was funny to hear Roman, who was usually so cool and laid-back, sound so excited about something. Guess that's what sugar does to people.

Upon hearing the word 'hobo,' Salia burst out laughing from where she was sitting on the counter and said, "Why are you making up words?"

"He's fine," I said, laughing slightly at Salia. "How much begging to you think it'll take to convince Constance to let him stay here?"

"Just get Paul on board and you should be fine," Zayn answered. "And honestly, I don't think Paul will have a problem with it."

"Paul is bald!" Salia yelled, giggling uncontrollably, and thus causing Roman and I to laugh as well.

I heard the water upstairs shut off a while later. I got Dean some of my brothers clothes to borrow and then helped him clean his cut.

"You really don't have to do this," he insisted. "I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for a while."

"But you shouldn't have to," I said. "You're what, seventeen? Not many people your age are out on their own. Actually, a lot of people older than you aren't even out on their own yet."

"True, but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm special."

"The only special people in the world are superheroes. And despite how awesome you may be, you are not a superhero, so I think you should listen to me and accept the fact that I'm going to help you whether you like it or not."

When I was living in town, I'd seen a fair amount of homeless people. They'd lived outside our apartment complex, hanging out in the alley mostly just sleeping and mumbling to themselves. The majority of them had been older men, but once in a while there were women around there too and sometimes children.

Paul always told me never to go near or talk to them. When I was younger I didn't understand why. They seemed normal to me. I thought they were like me and my family. But as I grew older and my dad's warnings became more serious, I started to see these people differently. The main reason was because my dad was almost never serious or uptight about anything. He worked with remedial and mentally disturbed high school students, which he absolutely loved.

He was completely laid back about everything—except the homeless people. Every time I wanted to go out with my friends, he insisted on us driving so we would have to encounter any of them while walking. He made us keep everything in our front pockets so we wouldn't need to worry about people snatching things from our back pockets. He always counted my brother and my money before we left and demanded we got receipts for everything we bought so he could make sure we weren't giving it away.

"You may think giving money to them will make them leave you alone," Paul had warned. "but really it's just going to make them hassle you for more."

So we never gave any of it away. Once in a while we'd walk through the park by our building and we'd see homeless mothers with their children around. This was the only time Paul was ever compassionate to any of them. Since he worked with disturbed children, he knew how they could be, and he knew that kids—no matter how or where they were raised—needed as much help as they could get. And that was the reason I knew he'd let Dean stay.

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**Ok, so that was the chapter! Review please! Follow & Favourite!**

**Constructive critiscm is welcome but please don't be rude!**

**Ciara x **


	3. Chapter 3

**Wooooooooooo! Two chapters in one night! Bitch please! So again any people you don't recognise are my characters! Even though I hate OC'S but ah well, they're not important characters.**

**And, btw, who's seen Louis Tomlinson's little brother and sister they're actually adorable omfg!**

**This chapter is a lot shorter than the last two, but I actually like it so I decided to post it anyway.**

**So anyway enough rambling here's chapter 3! **

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"The bakery throws out old food," Dean blurted out suddenly.

"What?" I asked. We were sitting in my living room, candy wrappers and popcorn bags littering the coffee table in front of us. We'd just finished up our Sherlock marathon. Roman and his sisters were asleep on the couch next to us. To be honest, they looked quite adorable.

"Strobe Bakery," he said. "When their food gets over baked or old or they have extras, then they throw them out into the dumpster you found me by earlier."

"Oh," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"I was trying to get out of it and I slipped. I cut my cheek on the edge. On my way to the ground, I think I kicked the garbage can. That's probably when you heard me and came over."

"Oh," I said again stupidly.

"I know it's pathetic," he continued. "And disgusting. But lot's of the times, there stuff is packaged so it's not that bad…"

I sat there for a second quietly. Then in an almost whisper I said, "But it is that bad. It's awful you have to live that way."

"They way I see it, I'm just lucky to be alive at all," he said. "And if that's what I have to do then I'll do it."

"Why don't you just ask for help?" I asked. "It would save you so much trouble."

He looked at me for a second, his face expressionless. "Not many people would invite a random stranger into their home. But something tells me you aren't like most people."

"I'm average."

"Average people can't admit they're average. They always think they're something more."

The door opened and my parents walked into the kitchen behind us, followed by my brother.

"Have a nice evening?" I asked.

"Twas a fairytale evening," Paul said. "A fairytale with lots of beer and wedding plans." He spotted Dean. "And is this your prince charming? Having a fairytale evening of your own are you?"

I could feel my face heat up, even though I had long stopped being embarrassed by my parents. Paul always teased me about being gay, but he accepted it nonetheless. And i didn't mind, but it was just that Dean didn't know I was gay, or so I thought. I think he'd caught on by now, which is why I played along in this conversation. "Of course," I joked. "Dean here has come to ask you for my hand in marriage."

"Well, of all the other suitors you've brought around, this one seems the most noble," Paul commented. "What do you think of him, Queen Constance?"

My mother who had just poured a glass of wine, threw her arms out and proclaimed, "Let's have a wedding!" Half the glass sloshed over the side and onto the counter. "A medieval theme! With horses and knights!" I could blame her craziness on the wine, but if I'm being totally honest, she wasn't even that drunk. She was like this when she was sober.

"Don't forget dragons," Dean offered. "Can't say I've ever heard of a medieval wedding without dragons. Or wizards." I laughed as Dean played along. I was almost sure he knew now.

"The boy's a genius!" Constance proclaimed. "Seth, dear, I adore him. Much luck and best of wishes to the both of you."

"So in order to get the planning underway, would it be alright if Sir Dean spent the night?" I asked. "I beseech you."

"Beseech granted," Paul said.

Constance on the other hand looked less willing to agree. "Wait—"

"Silence woman!" Bobby said. "The king has spoken."

Then he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room. As she stumbled to keep up with him, the remaining contents of her wine splashed onto the floor.

"Wow," Dean said. "Your parents are amazing."

"Are you kidding?" my brother Greg said from where he'd been sitting at the kitchen table, watching the entire exchange. "They're insane."

Dean shrugged. "Genius often emerges from insanity."

Greg got up and walked out of the room mumbling something about how everyone in this house was out of their minds except him, and also he said he'd be better off living in a nuthouse. Can't say I would have complained much had he left for the nuthouse.

"So," Dean said once Greg was out of hearing-range, "you're gay?" It surprised me a little that he asked so suddenly, but it didn't bother me that much. As I nodded my head yes, he said, "Me, too."

Wait, what? He was gay, too? I wasn't really sure how to respond, so instead of saying something stupid, I stopped myself and instead said, "Cool."

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A while later, I showed Dean up to my room. After a long argument, I grudgingly gave him a pillow and a blanket for the floor because of his refusal to take the bed. But I decided to drop it since we were both tired. And at least I'd gotten him here at all. That was really what mattered most.

"I like the holes in your ceiling," Dean said, referring to the two skylights above my bed.

"Thanks."

"I see a spaceship."

"It's my people checking in on me probably."

"I'd love to meet them sometime."

"Sweet."

There are many times when a person meets a fork-in-the-road throughout their lives. Sometimes it's easy to decide which road to take. Other times the decision is more difficult.

For me at this particular second, one option was to say something then immediately regret it. The other was to not say anything and then regret it later. The fork-in-the-road sat in front of me, wide and open. I imagined myself standing there, completely dumbfounded.

But then the silence went on for just long enough that I'd missed my chance. So I said nothing as I stared out my skylight, regret drowning my mind.

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**Jesus Christ, I'm starting to love this story. I just find it so easy to write and I'm always pretty happy with it afterwards, which is unusual as normally I never am. But anyway, follow, favourite and review!**

**Ciara x **


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's Chapter four! I have to say I'm starting to actually really love this story! Thank you so much for all lovely reviews, they were adorable! So please review because you honestly don't know how much it means to me. **

**Thank you all for reading.**

**heres the chapter! **

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I never thought falling asleep with a near-stranger on the floor next to me would be possible. But as I opened my eyes to be greeted by the sun, I figured out how possible it actually was.

But I wasn't aware of this right away. There's always that moment right when you wake up when you don't remember anything. It's like a purgatory between sleep and reality even thought one is definitely awake. The world is at peace, hatred is nonexistent and bad memories are buried far beneath the ground.

Of course, within a few seconds, this serenity disappears and one realized that the world is still a messed up, war-infested place, and they have a chemistry test fifth hour which they decided against studying for. Then there's a second where a person wishes that everyone in the world was stuck in that state of peacefulness for all of eternity.

The sudden realization that the previous night I'd invited a homeless boy into my home struck me like a punch to the gut. I sat up too quickly and I was convinced that I had whip lash.

The floor was empty. The blanket and the clothes I'd lent Dean were folded neatly at the end of my bed on top of the pillow that he'd used. I jumped out of bed and swept the room with my eyes. Twice. He was clearly gone.

I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. Roman was still asleep on the couch. His sisters were playing with our pet ferret (Constance's idea, don't ask), named Ducky Egg (again Constance's idea, and again don't ask) , on the kitchen floor next to where Constance and Beth were sitting at the table with a bunch of wedding binders spread out between them.

"Have you seen a guy around here?" I asked.

"Bobby's outside, Greg's downstairs," Constance answered.

"No, a different guy. Dean. From yesterday. Remember?"

She looked up at me. "I thought he was in your room."

Beth looked up at me. "You had a boy in your room?" She was one of the few people that didn't like me being gay.

"You haven't seen him?" I asked.

"No…" Constance said. "He probably just left. Maybe he likes to get up before two o'clock so he can actually do something with his day."

I glanced at the clock and saw it was, indeed, two o'clock. "Shit! I have to be at work in twenty minutes!"

"You let him talk like that?" Beth asked as I darted back up the stairs.

Phil and I worked together at Triple Strike Lanes. It wasn't like most bowling alleys. First off, the owner named it triple strike so he could put three X's in a row for advertising, not to mention the huge neon sign with the three-X logo on it. Phil and I were convinced he had a porn addiction.

Upon walking in to Triple Strike, there was a restaurant-like area with a few tables. Beyond that was a bunch of couches with little coffee table around them.

To the right were the actual bowling lanes. It was always super dark in the building except for the exuberant flashing colors from the floors of the lanes. It was midnight bowling 24/7.

The last strange thing about the bowling alley was the actual reason Phil and I had applied there in the first place. We had always had our own style. We considered ourselves "different." Our wardrobes consisted skinny jeans (of many styles and patterns), hanging suspenders, converse or vans, and band t-shirts in all different kinds of combinations. We didn't particularly like being too flashy with our outfits.

Awesomely enough, Triple Strike's dress code was "wear whatever you want, as long as it's not too flashy". I think that mostly applied to the few boys that worked there, because the girls who worked there wore slutty outfits all of the time. Then again, our boss was a friendless fifty-something year old single man, so skanky clothes were probably encouraged for girls

I rushed into my room and yanked open my dresser drawer, pulling out my black skinny jeans, and a dark blue tight fitting t-shirt. Then I found my black high-tops and quickly jelled my hair into a quiff. Five minutes later, Phil was honking his car horn from my driveway.

As I left my room, I looked back at the spot where Dean had been. I sighed and couldn't help but wonder where he'd gone.

* * *

"You lost him?!" Phil yelled when I told him about the previous evening with Dean. "What if he stole your stuff or something?! Dude, how do you lose a human being? And why wasn't I invited over?"

"I didn't lose him," I said, even though that's pretty much exactly what happened. "He left while I was sleeping. And I didn't invite you over because…well do we ever invite each other over? I thought we just kind of showed up at each others' houses every day on a regular basis."

"Oh yeah," He said. "I was with John."

"Shocking," I said. It was a rare occurrence when one of us hung out with someone outside of our group of four.

"Look whose here," Phil said, abruptly changing the subject, nodding over to one of the lanes near us.

It was Michelle McCool and Mark Callaway. They'd been dating for a while and then they recently broke up and were now moving on the "awkward friend stage."

Mark and Michelle were an obnoxious couple when they were dating. They were always together, they thought they were more "in love" than everyone else, and they were planning on getting married.

Whenever someone mentioned either Michelle or Mark, Phil and I faux excitedly asked, "Of Mark and Michelle?!" like Orlando Bloom's character said "Of Chuck and Cindy?!" in Elizabethtown, which was our favorite movie. When they broke up and we found out, Phil yelled, "Score!" while I said, "Yes!" with a fist pump.

I felt a little bad because I talked to Mark once in a while and we were sort of friends. But then I'd remember how annoying Michelle was and my guilt would subside. Though I'd never spoken to her, I knew she was attention starved. Every other day she had a different part of her body wrapped up along with some bullshit explanation of why.

"Poor Mark," Phil said. "All he wants is to be loved. Too bad the only person he could find was the psycho."

"It's a sad story," I agreed. "Maybe if we smashed her head in with a shovel it would help."

"You're made of pure genius."

I went over there to take their drink order. The owner, Kirk, thought it was "classy" to take drink orders at the lanes instead of having customers go to the bar and order. It may have added an element of class in his eyes, but compared to the skanky dress code for the girls and the "XXX" sign outside, it really didn't do much.

"How's it going?" I asked, approaching Mark and Michelle.

Michelle looked at me from head to toe and wrinkled her nose. "Fine."

Mark smiled at me but didn't say anything.

"Water's fine," Michelle answered, not looking at me.

"Same for me," Mark said.

I rolled my eyes at him. Anyone who knew him was aware that he couldn't turn down a Mountain Dew if his life depended on it. He shrugged back at me and his eyes swept over to Michelle. I shook my head. This girl was doing a number on him.

I went back to the counter where Phil was waiting for me. "How are the love birds?"

"They're just dandy," I said. "I think I'll see if my mom will plan their wedding."

"Ooh, Good idea! I'm sure Annette would love that," She said, referring to his aunt who happened to be my mom's best friend and business partner. It was a small world.

"I know. It would be the time of their lives planning a teenage wedding. They'd open up a whole new window for business."

"Right dude? Except, how much would it suck to have to spend the rest of your life with Michelle McCool?"

"So true," I said. "I don't even know if the devil would be able to do it."

"The gates of hell would lock her out."

"She'd be stuck in Siberia," I said. "It's that where they send people to die?"

"Undoubtedly."

I filled up a cup of water and another of Mountain Dew, while Phil went to serve the people on the lane next to Michelle and Mark, which coincidently was a group of hot seniors from our school.

I took the two drinks over to them. To Mark I said, "Sorry, we ran out of water."

Michelle raised her eyebrows at me and put her hand on her hip. "You ran out of water."

I shrugged. "Yeah, well you know, the economy and such…"

"The economy is the reason you don't have water?" Michelle asked condescendingly.

"And global warming," I added. Phil snorted next to me, trying to hide his grin.

"Yup. Let me know if you need anything else. Toodles!"

I spun around at the same time Phil did and he looped his arm through mine, as Michelle mumbled "Faggots."

Phil laughed. "Global warming. The economy. You're my hero."

"Uh, it's true!" I said. "If global warming is real, then one day all the water will dry up. The less we use, the longer it will last."

"Or you'd just be leaving more to be dried up," Phil pointed out.

"I never said there weren't flaws in this logic."

"True," he said. We sat by the hosts/hostesses station. "Of all the places and people in the world, who would come to this town?"

"People who live in Siberia," I answered. "The only place worse than this is Siberia."

"But people in Siberia are already condemned to death. If they die then they don't have to prolong their suffering by coming here."

"Very true," I said. "And who goes bowling on a Sunday night?"

"I don't know!" he said. "Seriously, the population of our town is severely damaged if they have nothing better to do on a Sunday evening."

"Don't they have homework to procrastinate on?"

"Or Netflix movies to finish?"

I shook my head. "We're too smart for this dump."

"Amen."

* * *

** Okay, so no Dean in this chapter, but I did give you a cute seth/punk moment at the end! So please follow, favourite,and review!**

**Thank you all!**

**I know its cheesy but I love you all! **

** Ciara x**


	5. Chapter 5

**So here's the fifth chapter! I'm kinda getting dé ja vu because I remember updating this chapter, but then when I went to post chapter six it didn't show up, and then I checked my documents and it wasn't there, so I'm posting it again! **

**And in reply to the guest who explained that the sumMary for this didn't make senses, I am sorry, I got it off a tumblr post and just assumed it was right!**

**Anyway, here's the chapter! **

* * *

I didn't see Dean for the rest of the week. I looked for him pretty much everywhere I went but he wasn't around.

School was merely a time waster full of busy work. The school year was almost over, with less than two full months left. Most of the teachers were quickly wrapping up all the new stuff and moving on to reviewing. Aside from the new development of Michelle giving me dirty looks in the hallway, school was all the same.

Usually, I had no objection to the school year ending. Summer had always been my refuge. But this was the last school year I would have with Roman and John since they were going to a different college next year. They wouldn't be that far away, but it still made me a little depressed to think about how I wouldn't get to walk around with them next year.

Friday afternoon, I was shoving my notebooks into my bag, waiting for Phil to meet me at my locker. Unfortunately, Maryse got there first.

"Are you hanging out with us today?" she asked in her more-annoying-than-fingernails-scraping-a-chalkboard voice.

"No," I answered. "I have to work."

She stared at me for a moment, not saying anything. A few seconds later, she said, "Why?"

I clenched my fist and slowly said, "Because I have a job."

"Why don't you ever hang out with us anymore?" she cocked her head to the side like I'd seen dogs often do. Usually it was the old stupid ones that really should have just been put down.

I shrugged and bit my cheek.

"Can I borrow your hoodie?"

"No."

"Please? I think it's raining and I don't want mine to get wet. Plus you owe me since you won't come hang out with us."

"No," I said again. "I have to go."

She yelled "Wait!" as I slammed my locker shut and practically ran down the hallway.

I met Phil at his locker. "We have to go before Maryse catches up and eats my soul."

Phil shut his locker dramatically. "Let's go."

Work that day was busier than it had been on Sunday, since lots of people from school often came there on Fridays to hang out. I didn't really understand why though. There were so many more things I'd have rather been doing than bowling on Friday night. Roman had just rented the new season of Sherlock that he was anxiously waiting to start.

After three hours of taking orders, bussing tables, and sweeping floors, I finally found a minute to have a short break.

I sat at the front counter with Phil.

"Look at Adam Copeland," He said.

"He needs a haircut," I commented.

He punched my arm. "He's perfect."

"I think he likes women."

"Then I will turn him."

He may have been joking, but I didn't doubt that he was capable. Phil had pretty much permanently tanned skin, shiny dark brown hair, and pretty hazel eyes. It was obvious what girls thought of him when they saw him, and yet he'd never be available for any of the girls.

It was weird to see him like Adam Copeland. The one word I'd use to describe him was "geek." I'd never found him particularly attractive, although I'd talked to him in maths once in a while and he seemed pretty nice.

"Go talk to him," I said.

"I'm not that manly."

"What happened to turning him?"

"I let that dream go."

A group of people got up from a table in my section and left. "I'll be right back."

"I'll be here subtly taking pictures of Adam."

"Ok, weirdo," I said, which was pretty hypocritical considering I myself had mastered the art of taking pictures of unsuspecting individuals.

After clearing the plates and wiping down the table, I turned around only to collide with someone who obviously didn't have any personal space boundaries.

"Hey—!" I said.

"Hey to you too," Dean said back.

My jaw dropped a little. Then I found my voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting you. Isn't it obvious?"

I was going to say something—or rather, yell something—but then I just grabbed the bucket full of dishes and pushed past him to the kitchen.

He followed me. "It's really good to see you too. I missed you. I missed your room too. Your floor is like a cloud compared to the sidewalk."

I left the bucket by the dishwasher and turned to leave the kitchen.

Dean blocked me. "I'm sorry I left."

"Ok," I said. "Goodbye."

I stepped around him and headed for the front counter where Phil was still sitting, staring at Adam with his phone out angled awkwardly towards him.

Dean grabbed my arm. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad," I said. "I'm acting. Now, close your eyes and let me leave. Then in a week I'll come back and find you and you can tell me who I'm pretending to be."

"Come on," he said. "You don't understand. Do you realized you're the first person whose invited me into their home? It was weird, ok? I haven't slept for a full night since…well I don't even know. So I woke up and it was the freaking afternoon. And I'm sorry."

"It's ok," I said. "but why did you leave?"

"I didn't leave right away…I had to wait for your dad to come in from mowing the lawn."

"But he was still mowing the lawn when I left for work…"

"You have a huge closet," he said, fighting a smile.

"You were in my closet?!"

"I panicked! It was the afternoon and I was going to leave then you started to wake up and I didn't know what to do," he looked down. "I'm sorry ok?"

"Where did you go?"

"I needed drugs." He said, with a slight grin.

"Bye," I said, turning away.

He grabbed my arm again and this time he didn't let go. "What do you want me to say? You wanna know where I went? Nowhere. I went back to the alley by subway for a while. Then I just wandered around. I didn't go anywhere, Seth. I don't have anywhere to go."

If I apologized, he'd win. If I didn't, I was a dick. The fork in the road stood before me.

In the end, I just said, "You're welcome back anytime."

He let go of me. "Thanks."

* * *

"What's your favorite movie?"

"Elizabethtown," I answered.

"That's a good one," Dean said, even though I was pretty sure he'd never seen it.

"That's the best one."

"What's your favourite sweets?"

"Strawberry laces," I said. "Do I get to ask you questions now?"

"Did you figure out who was president in 1960?"

I sighed. "No."

I stared at the starry sky while I waited for him to ask his next question. We'd been laying in the grass in my front yard for about an hour.

"If you wrote an autobiography, what would you call it?"

"My Name Is Seth Rollins and I Don't Know Who Was President In 1960," I answered.

"Really?" he said. "I thought it would be My Adventures With Some Homeless Guy Whose Last Name I Don't Even Know. And then the subtitle would be A Journey to the End of Time to Figure Out Who Was In the White House In 1960."

"You're funny."

"I try."

"What is your last name?"

"That's an interesting question. You know what's another fun question? Who was president in 1960!"

I swung my arm at him to pound him in the chest. He caught my wrist and said, "There are rules to this game you know!" he propped himself up on his elbows. "I get to ask until you can answer that one simple question."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I grumbled.

"Do you like school?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's a lot like prison."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Eisenhower."

"What?"

"Dwight D. Eisenhower was president in 1960."

He grinned at me. "Finally."

"Shut up."

He smiled at me. He looked so happy. His sandy brown hair hung in his face in a way that seemed to give him an odd look of innocence. He laid back down in the grass. I remained sitting up until he pulled me back down.

"What's your last name?" I asked, shifting from my back to the side so I was facing him.

He turned and faced me too, only a thin wall of air between us. "Ambrose."

"Dean Ambrose," I said. It was a pretty impressive sounding name.

"Yup."

"Where are your parents?" I asked.

"I shanked them."

"What is your problem?" I said, shoving him.

He sighed. "I don't know where they are. If they're alive then they're probably in prison.

I remained quiet. His voice had grown serious. But he didn't seem to mind talking about it. His light brown eyes didn't leave mine.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"It's ok," he whispered back.

The fork-in-the-road came up again. Say something. Don't say anything. Regret would follow both options. Lose-lose. He looked at me like he was expecting me to say something. But I didn't know what to do. So I just laid there staring at him. I was so close I could see my reflection in his pupils.

"You have pretty eyes," he said. "I had a toy dog once that was the colour of your eyes. It was my favorite thing in the world."

"Do you still have it?" I asked.

"No, my sister ripped it in half. I had a funeral. It was rough." It was the first time he mentioned he had a sister, and he didn't acknowledge it afterwards, so I decided not to either. I'd learnt a long time ago that sometimes it's best just to leave things be.

"Sounds like it. So would you like to stay over again?" I asked. I was surprised at how hopeful I sounded.

He smirked. "I'm ok."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You have nowhere else to go. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep knowing you're out on the street."

"I'll be fine," he said, though not too convincingly.

* * *

Later that night I went to John's house with Phil. He was working on a paper for his psychology class, so we just sat on his bed and complained mostly.

"Why do you have to be such a nerd?" I whined. "Can't you just do your homework on a Sunday night like a normal person?"

"Shh," he said.

"Did you ever notice how annoying you are when you're shushing us?" Phil asked.

"Joooohhhnnnn," I said. "We're bored."

"I'ma smack you both," he threatened, though not very effectively since he continued to stare at his computer screen with his back to us.

"Take off your pants," Phil said. I laughed and John sighed. Phil had a very creepy and very public crush on John. I couldn't really blame him; John was definitely the most attractive guy in our school, not to mention he was pretty much the nicest guy too.

"Let's go hang out with the homeless guy," Phil suggested. "he seems interesting."

"He seems weird," John said.

"How is he weird?" I asked.

"He just seems like it to me."

"You've never even met him," I said.

"I still don't like him."

"Of course you don't," Phil said, rolling him eyes. "Change is bad."

Later that evening when Phil fell asleep and I was dozing off, John shook my shoulder gently.

"You don't even know him," He said, referring to Dean. "He could be…bad."

"You're worrying about nothing," I assured him.

"Maybe he isn't bad," he said. "But you never know what his parents or his upbringing was like. Remember how you told us he said they might be in prison? They don't put people in prison for nothing, Seth. It's not that I don't like him. I just don't trust him.

"It's fine," I said.

"I'm just looking out for you."

"I know."

"I just don't want to wake up one morning and find out that you were found hacked to pieces in your bed."

* * *

** So there it was! What did you think of it? I'll be updating chapter six shortly! **

**Review, follow & favourite!**

**Ciara x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here' Chapter Six! And a couple of people have pm ed me, asking about the summary for the story. And, yes, it doesn't really match the story and make sense now but it will later, trust me!**

**Here's the chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

"I want the bridesmaids dresses to be pink," Beth said. "Floor length and pink. And lots of ribbon, lace and ruffles."

She was flipping through a dress catalogue at the kitchen table with my mom. "Also I think an ice sculpture would be nice. Could you see it?"

"You know what I see?" I said from where I was laying upside down on the couch next to John. "Thousands of starving children in a third world country wearing rags because billions of dollars that could be used to help them are being thrown away to the wedding industry all so you can have a huge piece of ice that you'll care about for all of one day before it melts into nothing."

"An ice sculpture may be a bit much…" Constance said. "What about a bouquet for each centerpiece?"

"Because that's a much more dignified way of taking money from people fighting AIDS and Tuberculosis in Africa," I added.

"Aunt Connie, can you please turn him off or take out his batteries?" Beth said. I couldn't see her and I knew she could only see my feet over the back of the couch, but I flipped her off anyway. "I mean, this is my day and I don't want it to be ruined by anyone."

"I think you had some pretty valid points," John said.

"Thank you," I said. "It's unfortunate that the rest of the world isn't more like you."

"I was going to say the same thing about Maryse ," he joked.

I sat up and punched his shoulder, though it probably hurt me more than it hurt him seeing as he was six foot one and he worked out five times a week. Either way, I made my point.

Lots of people thought I hated Maryse for no reason, but they really had no idea. They looked at her and saw an innocent little sophomore. But really, she lied about everything. I wasn't even one hundred percent sure her real name was even Maryse. Also, she insulted people all the time, only she made herself somehow seem so blameless.

For example, one time when I was walking around town with her and that whole group, we were at the local drugstore and we saw this girl from school. Maryse said something to her like, "Must be laundry day, huh?" Maryse knew full well that this girl dressed this way every day, and yet she continued on to say, "My dad got two washing machines so we don't have to worry about that."

My first thought was "you're such an idiot." My second thought was "Who the hell needs two washing machines?" Then I remembered how the previous week she'd told us about how poor she was because neither of her parents were working. She also said that her dad smoked two packs a day and her mom wore only designer clothes. I wondered how they could afford a second washing machine, that many cigarettes, and designer clothes all on a $0 per year income. See? Nothing but lies.

"She really is annoying," John said.

"I'm glad you agree. Or we wouldn't be friends anymore."

"That would suck."

"Wouldn't it?"

* * *

Another two days went by and I didn't see Dean. I tried not to let it bother me too much, but I couldn't help it. Not knowing where he was distracted me from everything I was supposed to be doing. I could tell it was annoying John, though he never would have admitted it.

Phil, on the other hand, loved the idea of Dean. One summer his parents went to visit their family, so they had Phil's grandma stay with him. During that time, Phil read a lot of his grandma's romance novels, which were mostly about sweaty forbidden love.

Ever since that fiasco, Phil could turn anything into a romance novel, although he usually found a way to leave out the phrase "heaving breasts" which came up in almost every one of the novels. I'd be lying if I said I didn't read a few. What can I say? Temptation got the best of me. Plus Roman gave me twenty bucks to read them out loud to him while my parents were around to see what their reactions were. (Constance couldn't stop giggling and Paul later asked me if Roman was either gay, illiterate, or both, and then told me to tell him if he ever needed someone to talk to, he'd be there. Best twenty bucks I'd ever made).

"He's soooo cute!" Phil cooed mockingly during history, referring to Dean. "But seriously you need to find him. And then get a lead or something."

"I was thinking a shock collar," I said.

"I was thinking about even leaving John for a while to see what Dean's like…" He got a dreamy look in his eyes. "But I don't think I could leave him. He's been the love of my life for like four years. I can't get over him that quick."

"Are you giving up on Adam?" I asked, pretending to take notes as the teacher walked by. Not that he would have cared that we were talking. I think he just became a teacher so he could be with teenagers and therefore learn how to be "cool" since he didn't seem to have anything of a social life.

"No," He sighed, looking across the room at him where he was sitting quietly by himself. "Things aren't going well with that though. Every time I decide to go talk to him, I back out at the last minute."

"Why?" I asked, doing my best to keep the cynicism out of my voice. "It's not like there's a bathroom full of guys waiting for him. I'm pretty sure it's just you and Christian."

"Christian is not gay!" he said with a giggle. Some people around us glanced over. It was unusual to hear Phil, who most people thought was tough (he's actually the biggest softie ever), giggle. He lowered his voice, but his giggles didn't subside. "Is he?"

"Well," I said. "he doesn't act a lot like Adam, but the way Adam looks at him could be his one exception for a dude. The only difference is Christian's more attractive. And promiscuous. It's only a matter of time before they find each other. And if they aren't gay now—and I'm pretty sure they are—then they will be when that day comes. Like I said, Christian is Adam's exception."

Phil shook his head. "Such a pity the way the world works," he looked past me. "Why is Michelle McCool staring at us like she wants to put our heads in blenders?"

I turned around. Michelle was with Mark (as always) staring in our direction with an expression of pure hatred.

I turned back to Phil. "Because she's a psychopath."

"She saw me talking to Mark this morning," he said. "Maybe that's why."

"Oh yeah, I forgot she owns him," I said.

"Did they ever have sex?" he asked.

"Ha!" I said. "She's pretty much the biggest ease ever. And look at the poor boy. It's so obvious he'd just desperate to give it away."

"Poor kid."

"Just because you guys are a couple of slut-faced faggots doesn't mean everyone else is," a girl near us said. She was a friend of Michelle's. "You'll be sorry when you get your STD test results back."

"Oh, you didn't hear?" I said. "We're pregnant!"

"Ooh, plus we found out you can conceive a child and contract gonorrhea at the same time!" Phil put in.

"Such a fun night," I said.

"The greatest," Phil agreed.

The girl rolled her eyes and went back to her note taking mumbling, "Some people…"

* * *

**Again, no Dean, but don't worry he'll be back soon.**

**review, favourite & follow!**

**Ciara x **


	7. Chapter 7

**Can't be arsed writing a authors note so here's the chapter!**

* * *

"I'm in hell," I said to John for the twelfth time.

"Hell smells a lot like flowers," he said back.

I'd never been to any sort of bridal store, or any store that was completely devoted to nothing but wedding crap for that matter. This was my first time and I had to say I was definitely not enjoying it.

Beth's three best friends were going to be her bridesmaids, but only one of them, Natalya, was in town. Naturally, this meant I had to tag along for some odd reason, considering I was a guy, with her on this trip and pretend to care about whatever stupid thing she was pointing out.

Constance, Annette, Kimberly, Natalya and Beth were all looking at dresses while John and I sat on a couch by the dressing rooms. I wasn't quite sure how I'd actually convinced him to come along, but I was glad he did.

"I thought most people have their wedding dresses custom made or whatever?" he said.

"Yeah, well she probably just can't afford anything not off the rack otherwise she can't get her stupid ice sculpture or whatever."

"Ah, what a horrible position to be stuck in; a giant chunk of ice or a million dollar dress," he joked.

John knew a little about weddings from when his older sister, Nicole, got married, which Constance and Annette planned. I liked Nicole a lot. When I'd met John five years ago, the first time I went to his house Nicole was there and she was one of those optimistic happy-all-the-time in a good way sort of people. The kind where you just really want to be like them so you can know what it's like to smile that much.

When her boyfriend (who she'd been dating since tenth grade) proposed she was so happy, I was pretty sure she almost literally exploded. During the planning of the wedding, John and I were around a lot to help. It wasn't bad at all; Nicole and her fiancé, Derrick, were nothing like Beth. Nicole didn't complain at all, she didn't cry and fuss over everything, and she was always pleasant to be around.

I wished Beth was like that. Then maybe all this stuff I was being forced to do would have been less horrid…it may have even been enjoyable. But having the word 'enjoyable' and 'Beth' in the same sentence was not viable when it came to my cousin.

Two young girls came out of one of the dressing room near us wearing light blue bridesmaid's dresses that had sleeve poofs the size of basketballs. Three women (one I assumed was the bride, and the other two seemed to be the mothers of the girls) sat across from her.

The bride clapped. "It looks wonderful!"

One of the mothers nodded in agreement while the other plastered on a fake smile.

"Why are people so weird?" I asked John. "Or maybe marriage just makes you insane. Look at that dress. No sane person would ever think that was even remotely attractive."

"The sleeves are bigger than their heads," he commented.

"I think brides pick ugly dresses for their bridesmaids on purpose. You know, to ensure no one there is as good looking as them at the wedding," I said.

"Probably," John said.

"Seth!" Beth said, running up to me, a frilly hot pink dress at hand. "Could you please try this on?"

I stared at her for a second, waiting for her to indicate she was joking. When I confirmed she wasn't, I said "Uh, no."

"Please!" she begged. "Mickie and you are about the same size and I need to see if this dress would fit but I can't because she and Trish haven't gotten to town yet."

Mickie, Trish, and Natalya were Beth's best friends and bridesmaids. After high school, Mickie and Trish went away to college while Natalya and Beth stayed here for school, thus proving my point that Beth, along with Natalya, was stupid. Who wants to stay in Washington forever?

"Can't you just wait until she gets here?" I whined. "What if she doesn't even like it?"

Beth stomped her food. Yup. Just like a five-year-old when they're mom wouldn't let them get a candy bar at the grocery store. I stifled a laugh. She said forcefully, "This is my wedding!"

The people near us glanced over. I rolled my eyes and stood up. "I'm a dude! I'm not trying on a dress!"

"At least hold on to it for me? My mom and Aunt Connie are looking at different dresses without me!" She shoved the dress into my hands, causing me to fall back on the couch and spread the dress on top of me, making it look like I was wearing it. I started to move it before she objected. "I don't want it to get ruined." She was off before I could say anything, leaving me with a frilly dress laid on top of me, looking like I was wearing it.

John looked at me and laughed at the appearance. He laughed for a while, while I groaned. I silently wished he choked on his tongue.

"You're shaped like a bell," he said. "Like that huge one outside Independence Hall. The Liberty Bell."

I threw the dress to the side and hit his arm. "Shut up."

"Seriously," he said. "you should be a bridesmaid so I can see you wear it in front of a ton of people."

I sighed and said, "Where'd Beth say she was going?"

He pointed off in the direction she'd come from earlier. "She went back over there to find your mom."

I stalked off to find her. As I rounded a corner, I smashed into someone. Unfortunately the horrendousness and hugeness of the dress hanging off of my arm was throwing off my sense of balance, so I toppled over backwards. I looked up to yell at whoever was standing before me. As I drew a breath and snapped my head up, I saw Dean staring down at me.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm getting married!" he said.

"Congratulations," I said flatly.

"Thanks. You know what's funny? You're holding the very drapes I'm going to get for the windows of the church where my wedding is going to be."

I tried to kick him in the shins but he jumped back too quickly. He grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet.

"Thanks."

"Yup."

"So why are you really here?" I asked.

"I wanted to see you," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh," I said. "How did you know I was here?"

"I've been stalking you."

"Seriously."

"I went by your house and your brother told me that you were here," he answered.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you come here?"

He looked down and shuffled his feet a little. "I wanted to see you. I already told you that. And I'm glad I came when I did or I might have missed seeing you holding a gigantic pink half of an hourglass."

I rolled my eyes. "You need to meet my friend John," I grumbled. "Actually he's over by the dressing rooms. You should go say hi."

He grinned. "I shall."

We walked past each other. I found Beth and the others looking at yet another rack of bridesmaids dresses. When Constance saw me, she started giggling uncontrollably. To cover it up, she tried to cough but she just ended up snorting really loudly in the process. I smirked. Yay for karma.

"Oh my gosh, I love this," Beth said. Natalya nodded in agreement. I looked down and sighed. It really did look like I was wearing the dress—there was no way I could hold the stupid thing without it covering my whole body.

"Great," I said. "Can you please take this now?"

"Could you at least pretend to be a little happy for me?" Beth asked with exasperation.

"I'm going to give you a completely honest answer: no," I said. Then I spun on my heel and went to put the dress into the dressing room. John and Dean snickered like fourth graders as I walked by. It took all my will power not to flip them off.

When I was done straightening out my skinny jeans and Blessthefall t-shirt, I walked back out and the three of us decided to leave before more dresses were forced on me.

We ended up back at John's. His house was generally pretty quiet since Nicole moved out. His mom was always locked away in her home-office. She was a pretty successful writer and she was always working to meet deadlines. You could tell when she was writing a good part or when she was really inspired because there would be smoke from her cigarettes drifting from under the door, poisoning the rest of the house. In addition to the cigarettes, she texted John or his dad every ten minutes to get her more coffee. She was the only woman I'd ever heard of that drank black coffee.

John's dad was a computer programmer which one could probably guess just by looking at him. He had short hair, thick black rimmed glasses, he was slightly overweight and he was on the shorter side. I never knew where John got his height from. His mom was even shorter than his dad, and yet John was a solid six one.

As we walked in and John threw his keys on the kitchen counter, his mom walked into the room. The stale stench of smoke saturated the room. She had large dark (almost black) bags under her eyes and her short blonde hair looked like a mess of straw atop her head.

People often looked at her and saw some tired old woman, but for some reason, when I looked at her I always thought she looked like she could be an actress, even with her smile lines and droopy eyes.

"Hi, Mrs. Cena," I said. "How's the latest novel?"

"It's coming along really nicely," she said with a smile. "I think you'll really enjoy this one."

She always let Phil and I have the first copy of her novels. I smiled back and said, "I'm sure I will."

"Where's dad?" John asked.

"In the basement playing videogames," she said, rolling her eyes. "Expect him not to come up until tomorrow or the next day."

She wasn't even joking. Sometimes I wondered if he even knew what day it was when he finally set down the controller to go to bed. Not to mention, John's parents bedroom was also in the basement where there was a grand total of one window that was always covered up by an old blanket, so he could literally go about 48 hours without ever seeing the light of day.

"This is Dean, by the way," John said.

"Hello, Dean," she said, shaking his hand. To all of us she said, "Well I'm going to run to the store. You need anything John?"

"Nah, I'm good," he answered.

Within five minutes after she left, we were rummaging through his kitchen for food. At John's, we always ended up eating dry cereal. This was due to the fact that his pantry consisted of one quarter cooking ingredients and three quarters cereal.

After two hours of channel surfing, go fish, monopoly, and eating, Dean said, "I think I should go."

"Are you sure, man?" John asked. "You're welcome to stay…"

"Thanks, but I think I'm just going to go."

"You need a ride somewhere?"

"Nah, it's fine."

We walked over to the front door with him to say goodbye. After closing the door behind him, John said, "So, what do you want to do?"

"Remember when you said you didn't like Dean?" I asked, ignoring his question. "And you just invited him to stay here two minutes ago."

He shoved my shoulder gently. "Shut up."

"I'm just saying…" I said.

He poked my side, making me flinch involuntarily. "Hush."

"You really hate being proved wrong, don't you?" I teased.

He poked me again. Then again. Then, so many times I ran up to his room for refuge, collapsing on his bed.

He shut the door after walking in. He laid down next to me. His blue eyes twinkled in the dark.

"Sweet dreams," he whispered as I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Shitty chapter, I know, but at least Dean made an appearance and cute seth/John moment at the end.**

**Ciara x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, so this is gonna be a long author's note, but if you like the story you should read it as it's important. I don't know if I'm going to continue this story anymore, because I like writing it and I like it, but no one else seems to. I know it's so annoying when people only write stories to get reviews, and this honestly is not what this is, but it's just really disheartening when you put a lot of effort into someone and then no one reviews. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, especially Chocolate-w-love and sherry. Tripp 3 for reviewing frequently on nearly every chapter. **

**It's annoying because my other story, Underappreciated, got way more follows, favourites and reviews, but I prefer this one. So I don't know if I should just stop writing this story, because is there any point writing something that no one reads? So I already had chapter eight written so here it is, but I dont know this could very well be the last chapter.**

**Sorry.**

* * *

"Ashley Massaro is telling everyone I'm a slut," Phil said the next day at school. We were sitting on a bench in the school courtyard before class started.

"Since when do you care what Ashley Frickin' Massaro thinks?" I asked, cracking open a Coke Zero.

"Since Adam's best friend is dating her," Phil said. "I don't want him to think I have herpes or something."

"I'm sure he doesn't," I said. "And if he listens to what that ho-bag says then you should be thankful you never dated him."

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, staring longingly at Adam, who was sitting on a different bench with his best friend Matt and his girlfriend, the aforementioned Ashley. Phil's gaze shifted and he surveyed the rest of the courtyard. "Have you noticed that at least one person from every group in this school had called us some sort of derogatory term?"

I laughed. "Yeah, it's weird. Do they really not have better things to do? Plus they don't even know us."

"Probably because pretty much the only people we ever talk to besides each other are Roman and John."

"Good point."

"What does 'emo' even mean?" I asked, looking over at the clump of kids who only wore black that considered themselves emo because of their wardrobe and their colorful hair.

"Emotional?" Phil said.

"But everyone's emotional about something," I said. "So would that make everyone emo…?"

"They'd get mad if they ever heard you say that," he snickered.

"What I don't understand is how they consider themselves different when they all look exactly the same," I commented.

"They just look ridiculous. I mean, hello, makeup is for girls and if you dye your hair that much, you'll be bald by the time you're thirty if you even make it that long."

"It's disgusting. Also the word itself is weird. It sounds like emu."

Phil giggled. "Isn't that some kind of bird?"

I laughed with him. "I think so."

"Oh, people these days," he said with a sigh.

* * *

"Do you believe in God? And Heaven and stuff?" Dean asked.

"Mhm," I said. "Do you?" I mean, I kind of did, but Phil was an atheist and he'd sort of passed his beliefs onto me.

"Definitely. I wouldn't care to live for very long if I thought it was all for nothing," Dean answered from the floor.

I rolled over and peered over the side of my bed. "Dean can you please come up here? I feel so bad with you being on the floor."

"I'm fine," he said, smiling up at me. "I promise."

I sighed and rolled back onto my back. "What's something that makes you really mad?"

"When two letters make the same sound. Like 'G' and 'J' or 'S' and 'C,'" he answered.

"Or 'K' and 'C,'" I added.

"Exactly! What about you?"

"When it takes me two hours to convince Dean Ambrose to stay at my house so he doesn't have to go stay on the street," I said.

"Yeah, he's such a stubborn bastard."

I rolled over again and stared into his eyes. "Yeah, he sort of is."

"But that Seth Rollins guy on the other hand…" he said. "Well he's something else."

"He's average," I said.

"He is definitely not," Dean said. "He invited a stranger into his home and gave him food and a place to sleep. He doesn't care what everyone else says. He wears extremely skinny jeans but he's in church every Sunday. He likes his music loud but he keeps conversations quiet. And he's completely, utterly, unquestionably, the furthest thing from average."

I smiled down at him. His face seemed so perfect. I couldn't find a flaw. I remembered the first time I ever saw him and how flaws were all I could see; there was nothing else. But things were so different now. He grinned up at me. Such a soft smile. I wished I could find words but I remained silent. We both did. I laid on my back once again, staring out my skylight until I fell asleep.

* * *

"What's that disease where you're like addicted to medical attention and you like pretend you're sick to get people to look at you or whatever?" Phil asked.

"Munchausen's?" I said.

"Yeah, that's the one," Phil said, snapping his fingers. "I think Michelle has that. She should get checked."

"Do you know what Munchausen's is?" I asked. "It's when doctor's tell people that they're sick because they pretend to be sick. It just indulges them, gives them what they want. It definitely doesn't help them. What she really needs is a good kick in the ass. Then she'll really have something to go to the doctor for."

"Maybe if I punch her in the mouth she'll magically be cured then," Phil suggested.

Michelle had come to school today with her arm wrapped up in some sort of fabric that people buy at the store when they have minor sprains. She also had it in a sling, plus she'd decided to dip-dye her hair bright pink.

"I bet if you rubbed a piece of paper on her head it would look like highlighter," I said.

"Blinding highlighter," Phil agreed. "Are she and Maryse friends?"

"Yes," I said. "Are you surprised?"

"Shocked."

The library doors swung open, letting in a brief burst of the commotion from the hallway before it slowly fell closed again. In walked Mark Callaway and Michelle McCool. Mark was carrying her books in addition to his own as she pranced in ahead of him.

Phil threw down his pen onto his notebook in front of him. "Can't we ever get a freaking break? Good God."

I sighed. "How long until school's over?"

"Well spring break's next week and then there's like five or six weeks after that," he said. "So like two months?"

"Great," I mumbled, slumping back in my chair.

"So where's Dean?" he asked. "Did he run off again?"

"No, actually," I said. "I woke up and found him fiddling with my iPod. Then when I was leaving, my dad was telling him that he should go to work with him. So I guess he's not going anywhere. For today at least."

"Why isn't Constance making him go to school?" Phil asked. "She's way too motherly to just let him chill as long as he's staying at your house."

"I know," I said. "But Paul works with disturbed high school kids, remember? So I guess he's making Dean his next project or something."

"Oh, that would make sense," Phil said. "So did he find anything good on your iPod? Wait, did he even know how to work it?"

I laughed. "He's homeless, not a caveman. And he said he liked So Far Away by Avenged Sevenfold."

"Sweet," Phil said. "So did you ever find out why he's homeless?"

"No," I sighed. "I don't know how to bring it up."

"Maybe your dad can help him," he suggested.

"If anyone could, it would be him," I agreed.

"Hey," someone hissed to our right. We turned to see Michelle staring at us. "Can you be quiet? We're trying to work. This is the library you know. Not a…" she looked us up and down. "faggot-whore house."

I snickered. "You don't know anything about the brothels, dear."

She scoffed. "And I'm sure you know all about them!"

The librarian hushed her. Michelle glowered at us while Mark sank in his chair.

"You guys think you're so cool," she hissed. "But really everyone hates you."

The part that surprised me most about that statement was that her tone suggested we might actually care.

I didn't really ever get involved in all the high school drama. How could I when I hardly associated with anyone at the school? But I saw it unravel. I heard it around every corner, by every locker, in every classroom. Everyone was always having some sort of petty drama.

Coming in as a freshman, I expected this. I figured it would be like any stupid movie I'd watched about high school. But it was worse. I watched as people let their drama consume their lives. Every rumor, every allegation, every whisper meant so much to someone. They cared so much. I didn't understand. How could people put so much effort into something that mattered so little?

At the end of my sophomore year, a boy shot himself. At the beginning of this year, a boy's parents were arrested for child abuse. He finally confessed that the bruises weren't from his clumsy mannerisms. Then a girl lost her dad in a car accident. Her little brother was in the back seat. He suffered permanent brain damage. He was only eight years old. The same age as Roman's sister was now. Little Trinity.

In between all these events, tragedies struck all over the world. People died. Children starved. Women were raped. Men were laid off of their jobs despite the fact that they had families to support.

And people here were crying because they got dumped. They whined because their hair didn't turn out right that day. They complained because their parents badgered them about grades.

When this realization hit me, I completely stopped caring or pitying anyone's stupid high school bullshit. I looked at the big picture. But most important I learned that if I got involved in all this, I'd get sucked into everything they were doing that I hated.

So I didn't let that happen. I isolated myself away from everyone. I watched them from the distance. Phil, Roman, and John were all with me. It's nice to have a few people on your side; that way you have people you can walk away from the rest of the world with.

* * *

**So I really like this chapter, and as I said in the other author's note, it may very well be the last one.**

**I'm sorry if you really liked it.**

**Ciara x **


	9. Chapter 9

**I have decided to continue with this story. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed,especially **

**sherry-tripp-3**

**Irishclover**

**Chocolate-w-love (By the way I took your advice and changed the summary, is it better now?)**

**Octaivia**

**Amy**

**You have no idea how much it meant to me that you all reviewed and you really inspired me to carry on writing. This chapter is a good bit shorter than usual, but I'll be updating again soon.**

* * *

Paul had convinced Dean to stay with us for a while. I don't know how, but he did it. He also seemed to have gotten Constance on board, because she seemed overly thrilled about the decision. Or maybe he'd just told her and then given her a bottle of wine.

Dean asked me to go with him to get his stuff. I tried not to be surprised that he actually had "stuff." Whenever I saw him, all he had was the dirty clothes he'd been wearing when I first saw him. I never actually considered the possibility that he had other belongings.

I borrowed my mom's car and we headed out. I had no idea where I was going, but Dean knew the exact destination—it was somewhere he went quite often.

"Is it hard to drive?" he asked.

"A little at first," I said. "But once you've driven a few times it gets pretty easy."

"I want to learn to drive," he said peering out the window. "Turn left here."

"Well what's stopping you?" I asked, making the turn.

"Lack of money, schooling, parents…" he said with a smirk.

"Right," I said, while thinking: Stupid, stupid, stupid…

We drove for a while longer, entering the next town over. At first, I recognized where we were. It was pretty nice, filled with mostly neighborhoods and such. Then as we got further into the town, we were headed for the side of the town I'd never been too. It was pretty run down, with a bunch of buildings that seemed to be vacant with 'closed' signs in the windows. The thing that was the strangest was that there were no people around.

"Pull over here," Dean said, pointing to a large building next to what seemed to be an old restaurant. "You don't have to come. I'll be back in a minute."

"This is where you go every time you leave?" I asked, looking around.

"Yup," he said.

I opened the door. He didn't object. I walked with him, slightly behind as we walked into the alley between the two buildings. He walked all the way to the back. There was a dirty, stained mattress pushed to the side of the restaurant. On top of it was a small brown bag. That was it.

"This is where you live?" I asked.

"Yep," he answered. "If you can call it living."

I never thought that a disgusting mattress in an alley would ever phase me in the least. It never crossed my mind that something so seemingly insignificant would trigger something inside me that made me fight to hold back tears.

But that was before I found a boy who had no other choice than to call this home.

This was where he slept. Crammed between two buildings in an almost abandoned town. There were no walls, no protection, nothing between him and the world. Nothing to cover him from the cold. Hardly anything separated him from the hard ground—he only had a mattress browned with age and stained with filth.

"Dean…" I whispered. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe it was in my head. Maybe I just mouthed it.

He turned towards me. I looked at him—met his eyes for only a second. Then I took a step toward him and threw my arms around his neck. Although he seemed surprised at first, he wrapped his arms around me and I squeezed him tighter. For some reason, I had the urge to say "sorry." For what? I didn't know. Pity? Attack hugging him? I wasn't sure. But I didn't say anything. I just stood there letting time pass. Or maybe no time passed at all. To me, it felt nonexistent.

How could the world move forward knowing how awful some people's lives were? Moving on suddenly seemed impossible. A boy kills himself. The world moves on to a boy being beaten by his parents every day of his life. The world moves on once again to a girl losing her father and having to cope with her damaged little brother because someone couldn't wait until the alcohol left their system before getting behind the wheel of their car.

And then the world moves on to Dean Ambrose who lived in an alley and had no family.

Move on, they say.

Dear Lord, please save us all from whatever horror the world moves onto next.

* * *

After I finally let go of Dean and forced the tears to stay back, he grabbed his bag and we left. as I pulled out of the street, I saw a man smoking a cigarette on the corner. He didn't acknowledge us as we went by. I watched him in my rearview mirror. He walked down the alley we'd just come from.

"That guy looks really creepy," I said.

"He is," Dean said. "I saw him around all the time. He was always trying to jack my bed. I guess there's nothing stopping him now."

"Do people come here a lot?" I asked.

"Not at all," he answered. "That's why I picked it. Nothing like Orlando…"

"I thought you said you were from Jacksonville?" I said.

"I am. But I wandered around Florida a lot before I decided to come here," he paused. "There were a few factors that went into that decision making process."

I considered inquiring as to what those factors were, but I decided that if he wanted me to know, he'd have told me. So I just said, "Ah, I see."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying me. "You're good at holding your tongue."

I shrugged. "'Learn to hold your tongue and let things go.' That's what my dad always used to say. Plus, we'll all be dead someday and then it really won't matter what you did or did not know, right?"

"Wow," he said. "But I suppose you're right. Well, you know you can always just ask."

"You'd tell me if you were ready," I glanced at him. "And you aren't, are you?"

He looked down at his bag in his lap. "I guess not." After a brief pause, he said quietly, "I like your dad. He's really cool."

"Yeah, he is," I said.

"He's so easy to talk to. Like you."

"Well, thanks."

"The kids he works with are cool too," he said.

"I've only met a few of them," I admitted. "but I liked them."

"At first I thought they were going to be special ed students…but that definitely isn't the case."

"Yeah, those kids are of a different mental status," I said.

"But mental nonetheless."

* * *

**So, yeah, it's short, but I'm continuing with this story And there was a cute ambrollins moment**

**Review, Favourite and follow!**

**Ciara x **


	10. Chapter 10

**So, as I said before I am continuing with this story, and as I have a week off school, expect a lot of new chapters. I want to thank everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed as I wasn't sure if anyone even liked this story anymore. I might not have a lot of followers, but the ones I have I love and you have no idea how grateful I am for all of you. Sorry if that sounds too cheesy.**

**Massive thanks to Chocolate-w-love for all her lovely advice and help, and this Chapter is now dedicated to you. **

**I'm thinking of starting a new fanfic, but I'd say I'll wait till I finish(or at least nearly finish) this one first. And I haven't updated Underappreciated in like years, so I really need to. **

**Anyway, here's the chapter!**

* * *

I've always hated digital cameras.

I remember one Christmas when all anyone wanted was a digital camera. I made a point to tell everyone not to get me one. I'd rather have gotten nothing.

I loved disposable cameras. I loved looking through the viewfinder (a feature modern digital cameras lacked) and taking a picture filled with anticipation of how it would turn out. But mostly, I loved the duplicates. I loved having two copies of all the snapshots. It meant I always had a backup. People often reminded me that I could use a computer and make as many copies as I wanted if I used a digital camera. I always told them it wasn't the same. Not by a long shot.

With duplicates, you had exactly two copies. Only two copies. And that was it. I never knew why, but for some reason it always seemed like a big deal to me. To only have two copies of something as sentimental as a photograph of, for example, Phil and I sitting on a swing set, or of us perched on Roman and John's shoulders. Only two copies would ever exist—only two people would ever own them.

It was way more meaningful and sentimental than a digital copy could ever be.

My room was filled with pictures. They were taped to my mirror, taped to my headboard, and in picture frames on every surface of my room. Phil, Roman, and John's rooms were all the same way.

The first picture I ever took of Dean was on the second to last day of spring break. I had a camera with one picture left on it that I planned on developing after work. Dean had come with me to work that day. After my shift, we sat on some barstools that overlooked the lanes as we waited for Phil to get off since his shift was a half hour longer than mine.

"Ready to go back to school Monday?" Dean asked.

"Ha, never," I answered. "School sucks. You have no idea."

"No, I don't, actually."

I mentally kicked myself. "Oh, I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he said, brushing it off. "It's no big deal."

"It kind of is though…"

He didn't say anything right away. He just sat there staring at the lanes. Then he sighed. "I used to go to school when I was little."

"How little?" I asked.

"Like six or seven," he answered. "Then my mom decided to 'home-school' me. It was pretty much just a way of not having to worry about me or forget about picking me up every day."

His mom. He'd never mentioned his family before. Except the thing about his sister,but that didn't really count. He'd never said anything really about a life before being homeless. I wondered where his mom was now. I wondered if he had a dad or any other siblings, or maybe some friends that he left behind.

"I'm sorry," I said again, quietly, since I couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Why?" he asked with a smile. "You didn't do anything."

"But still," I said.

He nudged my shoulder with his own. "Don't worry about me."

"Someone has to," I said, nudging him back.

He smiled a goofy smile and looked down. I pulled out my camera and wound it up.

"One more picture left," I said. "It would suck if I had to waste it."

"Do you have enough light in here?" he asked.

"We're about to find out."

We both leaned in and I stretched out my arm with the camera. Smiling, I pressed down the button, and with a click, the moment was frozen forever. Twice.

* * *

Monday night I collapsed onto my bed. "I forgot how physically demanding school is."

"We were only gone off for a week," Roman said, sitting beside me.

"No, we were gone for a whole week," Phil sighed and flopped over into a beanbag chair. "And entire week of sleeping in and doing nothing. And now…it's over."

"You guys are way too dramatic," John insisted as he sat down on my desk chair. "School's going to be over in less than two months anyway. So just suck it up."

"I would kick you if you were close enough," I said.

"No you wouldn't. You'd be too lazy to lift your leg."

"Children!" Phil said. "Hush."

"I like that picture," John said, pointing to one of the many frames on my nightstand. The one in particular to which he was referring was the one I'd taken of Dean and myself.

The picture turned out great. Though it had been in the dark and the flash was off, the bright fluorescent lights of the bowling alley were lit up around us, providing just the right amount of light for the photograph.

The picture seemed to stand out from all the other ones on my nightstand, which was quite a feat since I had so many crammed into such a small space. Or maybe it just stood out to me because it was the first picture of Dean that I'd taken.

Dean had a stunning smile. His eyes seemed to light up as his smile touched them. He looked as though he'd never lived through a sad moment in his life—which just goes to show that a smile can hide a thousand secrets. If you don't believe me, go look at the Mona Lisa.

* * *

**So there's chapter ten. Review, favourite & follow!**

**Ciara x**


	11. Chapter 11

**Ok, so I accidentally put up the wrong chapter for ten, therefore having eleven and ten as the same chapter. So the chapter I just posted is chapter ten, and this is chapter eleven. Sorry for the confusion!**

** here's another update! I originally had this chapter and the last chapter in the same one, but it got too long, so I edited them both into separate chapters, and that's why they're both kinda short.**

**Oh, By the way is jell-O the right American term, because I'm trying to use the American terms since they are, obviously, American, and I wasn't too sure? I just googled it but I hope it's right.**

**So, here it is! Oh, and dedicated to sherry. Trip 3 for telling me about the two chapters!**

* * *

On Saturday morning I was rudely awoken by the sound of screeching. Loud, ear splitting, blood curdling screeching. At first I thought it could have been a dream, but then I noticed Dean had shot up in surprise as well, indicating that he, too, had heard the awful noise.

"What is that?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But I have a hunch."

We walked over to the stairs and looked down at the front door. Standing there was Beth, Natalya, and the two other bridesmaids, Mickie and Trish, all hugging and screaming.

I groaned and shuffled back to my room, Dean in tow. "We're never going to have another moment of peace until this wedding is over."

Dean cracked a smile. "Well maybe we'll get lucky and they'll just spend all their time out looking for wedding stuff."

"They'd drag me along," I said with a sigh. "Because the universe loves to torture me."

"I'll protect you," he said, sitting down next to me on the bed. "I can take her."

I laughed. "I should hope so."

Three seconds later the door to my room swung open and Phil rushed in, followed by Roman. "Hey hey!"

"What are you doing up at…" I checked the time. "eleven o'clock on a Saturday? Have you ever actually been up this early? Or did you just never fall asleep last night?"

John wandered in then. He looked from me to Phil, back to me and said, "Wow, have you guys ever actually seen the sun at this time of day before on a weekend? I think this may be the first time I've ever seen your eyes open at this time when we aren't sitting in that hell hole called school…"

"Ha-ha," Phil said. Then, talking a mile a minute, he continued, "And it was the latter. I was up all night with Roman, studying for this stupid English test we have on Tuesday. Ugh. It's going to kill me. But then, at like two in the morning, we were on Facebook and we found out that Zack Ryder is having a party tonight. At first we were just laughing like 'who would be so stupid to waste their time with that stupid thing?' Then we came to the realization that we—meaning Roman, myself, John and you—have never actually been to a party before and school's almost over so I was thinking we should go just because it's one of those things that all high schoolers should be exposed to at least once in their life right? It's like important. Life experience. So I'm thinking we should totally go."

"What? No way," John said.

"You have to get over your fear of people some time, you know," Phil said. "Come on. It'll be fun!"

"I'm not afraid of people," he said. "And I'm not going to some dumb high school party. There's a reason we've never gone to them before. They're pointless and lame."

"Whereas, us sitting around here watching movies for hours on end and eating Doritos is…cool?" I asked.

"Exactly!" Phil said. "What do you think, Dean?"

Dean looked at me, then back at him. "Uh…I don't know. I didn't know I was included in this."

"Well of course you are!" Phil said. "You don't think we'd leave you here to hang out by yourself, do you?"

"It doesn't even matter though because we're not going," John said. "Not even if the fate of the world depended on it."

"Hush," Phil said.

"You'd let the apocalypse come just because you don't want to go to a party?" Roman asked, speaking for the first time. "That's dedication."

"Why not, John?" I asked. "In ten or twenty years do you want to have to look your children straight in the eye and tell them that you've never been to a party before? I mean, come on, it's one thing to be a lame parent, but it's a whole other thing to be one of…those parents."

"Do it for the children John," Dean joked.

"Please John?" I begged.

"Please John?" Phil begged.

"Please?"

"Por favor?"

"We beseech you."

"Please!"

"Ok!" he finally said, throwing up his hands. "Jesus, there is no arguing with you people."

"Yay!" Phil said as he danced around my room.

"You just completed his life," Dean said to John.

"It's definitely not worth it," he grumbled.

John eventually left to go to work and Phil and Roman went home to try to find something to wear. Dean and I decided to be brave and go downstairs and try not to get sucked in to all the wedding planning that was going on at the kitchen table.

* * *

Probably the worst thing about the wedding was that because it took up all of my mom's time, energy and attention, she no longer found the need to go grocery shopping. For the past few weeks, I'd been living off of nothing but cereal, orange Jell-O, and Coke Zero, plus whatever I could get at work. I didn't actually mind much, but my Jell-O stash was dwindling and the cereal selection was becoming more and more scarce every day.

"Would you like Jell-O or Cheerios?" I asked Dean.

"What about Cheerios with Jell-O on them?" Dean suggested.

I stuck out my tongue. "Wanna go to McDonald's?"

"Sounds like a plan," he said.

After we ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and cokes, we went to the park and sat on the hood of the car.

"I'll find a way to pay you back for this," Dean said.

"It was three bucks," I said. "Don't worry about it."

"But it's not just that. I mean, you're letting me stay with you, you give me food—"

"Cheerios and Coke hardly counts as us feeding you."

"Regardless," he said. "I'm staying with you rent free, and I'm basically just mooching and I don't like it. So I'll find a job and pay you."

"Dean, don't be stupid," I said. "It's fine."

"No," he said. "You don't understand."

I turned to him. "Don't understand what?"

"Seth," he turned to me, nothing but seriousness in his voice. "Your life is so different than mine ever was. You work for money so that you can go out and buy new clothes. I've never done that. And now it's almost overwhelming to live with you…in your amazing house with your amazing family. And you just give me everything. Clothes. Food. Everything. I'm going to get a job. I need this. Ok?"

"Ok," I said quietly. "If you want I can get you a job at Triple Strike. The owners a nut job and the manager's a meth head, so it would really be no problem."

He smiled. "Thanks. That would be cool."

"Yeah," I said. "You get to hear me and Phil gossip about everyone. Who would want to miss that?"

"Well, possibly the people you're gossiping about," he said, grinning.

I shrugged. "Good point. Oh well. They deserve it."

"Undoubtedly."

"So are you excited for the party tonight?" I asked. "Because Phil is about to explode with anticipation."

"You guys have never been to a party before?" he shook his head. "What kind of high schoolers are you?"

"The lame kind, clearly," I said. "I mean, we've partied a few times with some of the people John works with at the auto shop downtown. But they're mostly out of high school already and it wasn't as…wild as I assume this one will be, probably because there weren't that many people. Plus, we're all lame."

"Oh, I see. Well it'll be a new experience for all of us," he said.

"Unquestionably," I said. "We'll just have to see if it's a good or bad one."

* * *

**So thats it! Review, favourite & follow! **

**Ciara x**


	12. AN

**This is not an update, but I need you to re-read chapter 10 & 11 if you've already read them, and if you haven't then you can just ignore this. I accidentally posted chapter eleven instead of chapter ten, thus making chapter ten & eleven the same. I have replaced ten with the actual chapter ten, and eleven is the same. I advise you to read chapter ten as it does have some significance, albeit not a lot, later on.**

**Thank you to Sherry. Tripp 3 for pointing it out to me. **

**Ciara x**


	13. Chapter 12

**Here is chapter twelve, although if you count the authors note, chapter thirteen. I'll delete the authors note after a while, so just a reminder: READ CHaPTER TEN & ELEVEN AGAIN! If you hadn't read them before, don't worry about it, just ignore this. But I accidentally posted chapter eleven as chapter ten, thus making chapter ten and eleven the exact same. I've fixed it now, so go read them again!**

**Big thanks to sherry. Tripp 3 for pointing that out to me. This chapter is dedicated to you.**

**I've literally been writing this chapter all day, and I'm actually really happy with it, and there's big progression in the Ambrollins relationship, but I won't say anything else.**

**Before I spoil the rest of the chapter, heRe it Is!**

* * *

At seven thirty Dean and I went downstairs. Phil had instructed us to meet at his house at eight o'clock. I knew Roman and John were probably already there. I could almost picture it: John was whining and sulking about how he didn't want to go, while Roman cracked jokes about how only we would think parties were lame. All the while, Phil would be telling them to shut up because he needed complete concentration to get ready(Adam would undoubtedly be there), in which he would have looked amazing anyway even if he didn't spend an hour to do whatever he had to do.

My mom was sitting at the kitchen counter flipping through a magazine while my dad was doing dishes. Beth was sitting on the couch looking through a wedding book while Greg sat next to her watching MTV.

My dad looked up when we entered the kitchen. "Hello, children. Where are ya off to?"

As if he actually cared. As long as I texted him every so often to let him know I wasn't dead and stayed out of trouble, neither of my parents really cared what I did or where I went. And if they asked, it was purely out of curiosity.

"A party," I said, casually.

Constance spun around in her chair so fast it almost tipped over and she had to grab the edge of the countertop to steady herself. "What?"

Paul looked equally surprised. "A party? You? Really?"

"Yes," I said. "And I'm offended that you think I'm not cool enough to go to a party."

"What? No!" Paul said. "It's just…"

"We have a teenage son!" Constance proclaimed. "Oh, my. This is the first time you've actually done something that normal kids do…"

Paul pretended to wipe a tear away from his eye. "I finally have a real teenager."

"Ok, weirdos," I said, rolling my eyes and grabbing my mom's keys. "We're going to go now. Please don't wait up. Or call everyone you know. Seriously, no one really cares."

"We care!" Constance said.

"Goodbye!" I said.

"Bye," Dean said with a wave.

As we walked out the door I heard Paul faux whisper in a shocked tone, "A party?"

"Our son?!" Constance replied.

I rolled my eyes as I got into the car. "I'm sorry my parents are so…stupid."

Dean laughed as he got in the passenger side. "They aren't stupid. They're nothing short of amazing. And they're pretty funny."

"Funny like people in mental institutions," I said. "You know, you go laugh at them so you feel better about your own life."

"Yes," Dean said slightly sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "That exactly what I meant."

* * *

About a half hour later, after piling everyone into my mother's car (seriously, I used it more than she ever did—why couldn't she just get me my own already?) we were on our way to Zack Ryder's party.

Zack was a slightly above-average high school kid. He was on the football team, but he was the second string quarterback. He had a pretty girlfriend, but she was on the gymnastics team, not the head cheerleader or captain of the dance team. He had lots of friends, but they weren't super popular.

The one thing he did have was money, and his humongous extravagant house was a definite reflection of that. His house was the perfect place for parties, and he used that to his advantage. Of all the people in the school who threw parties, Zack threw the most. And it worked out because his parents were always traveling (because what else would you do if you had money practically leaking through the walls of your house?) and for some odd reason they trusted him home alone.

Because of his parents almost never being home combined with his social status, Zack's house became the number one party house in town. Sure, once in a while there were some other people who threw parties, but they never had as high a turn out as the Ryders household.

Cars were parked up and down the road near the Ryders' driveway. All the lights were on in the house and people littered the yard. The bass from the music playing inside seemed to shake the house as we walked up the driveway.

Upon entering the house, we were greeted by some guys from the football team who were hanging out in the entryway, undoubtedly waiting for the cheerleaders to show up. I knew some of them from school, but I didn't know them personally. Roman and John, on the other hand, seemed to know most of them, so they stopped to talk with them as the rest of us made our way through the house.

In the backyard right off of the deck there was a keg and a line of people waiting which we joined. A few feet away a bunch of people sat around a bonfire, all laughing with red plastic cups in their hands.

We got up to the keg and came face to face with our host, Zack Ryder. He smiled when he saw us.

"Wassup, bros?" he literally yelled. He was normally very energetic, but when you combined that with drink he became a whole new level of hyper. "Two bucks a cup. It may sound overpriced, but it'll pay off once you really start partying." He said, his voice raising at the end of the sentence

I rolled my eyes and pulled out four crinkled dollar bills. "And what cause is this money benefitting, may I ask?"

"The next kegger obviously!" he slurred/shouted.

Phil slapped two dollars into his palm. "Such a noble cause." And I laughed slightly, because Phil doesn't drink.

Grabbing the tap and a cup, Zack grinned. "That's what I'm thinking, man. Glad you two finally decided to come out. It'll be fun to see you outside of English class," he nodded at Dean. "Whose this?"

"This is Dean," I said. Zack and Dean nodded at each other.

Zack handed us the cups and nodded. "Hope this party meets all of your expectations."

Phil laughed. "We'll be sure to let you know."

He winked at him and I rolled my eyes, handing a cup to Dean. I spotted a pack of cigarettes sticking out of Spencer's pocket. "Can I bum a cig off ya?"

"Well, since you found the time to come out here I suppose I could spare a few," he answered. He took out a cigarette and handed me a pack of matches that only had three matches in it. "Go nuts."

Phil, Dean and I went over to the deck and sat on the steps. As Phil threw away his beer, I set mine down and lit up a cigarette. To Dean, I said, "You drink much?"

He shrugged. "Not really."

"Same here," I took a drag. "So your first high school party…was it everything you dreamed?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "See that guy throwing up in the bushes over there? Yeah, he was definitely in my dream."

I laughed. "I don't even doubt it. I mean, come on. How can you picture a party without some guy heaving all over. Not to mention the B.O. simmering throughout the house and the deafening music. Oh yeah. Fun stuff."

"Is that Adam?" Phil said suddenly, looking at some guy standing in the backyard by the keg. "Oh my fuck it is!"

"Go talk to him," I said.

"What? Ha! No," he said.

"Phil," I said. He looked at me. "You are at a party. Sometimes at parties people talk. Or do other things. And what better way to start off your relationship than at a party. It'll be a cute story for your children."

Phil looked at me uncertainly. Then he picked up my nearly full cup, threw back his head and sucked down all the contents of it. "Don't tell anyone I just did that," He said to me before he stood, set it down next to and said, "Wish me luck."

"Luck," I said.

"You don't need it," Dean said. "But good luck."

Dean and I watched him walk over to him. Instead of talking to Adam right away, he started talking to Zack.

I rolled my eyes. "It is not that hard to talk to someone. I mean seriously. Especially for someone as good-looking as him."

"He's just nervous," Dean said. "I mean if you really liked someone here, would you just go right up and talk to him?"

"Yes," I said, completely seriously. "I definitely would. But since I'm not interested in anyone here, I can't prove it to you."

He looked at me curiously. "Well...would you talk to someone you don't know? You know, just for fun…?"

I looked back at him inquisitively. "What, may I ask, are you suggesting?"

He grinned and took a swig of his beer. "See those guys over there?" he pointed to a group of guys a few yards away from us. "The one in the blue shirt keeps looking over here. Go talk to him."

I laughed and flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette. "Why would I do that?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone to experience new things. I mean, first of all, we're here at a party which is a new concept for both of us. But, look at Phil. He's actually trying to embrace the experience. And what are we doing? Watching him. I hardly think that's what the purpose of the party is. So go talk to him."

"No."

"Bet you can't get his number," Dean said with an evil grin.

"What would I even say to him?" I asked, trying to keep the uncertainty out of my voice.

"Anything. C'mon. You're an insanely cute guy at a party. Have some fun."

"I'm having fun," I insisted.

"You're not nervous, are you?" he teased.

"No!" I said a little too defensively. He smirked. "Fine! I'll go."

"Just remember," he said. "New experiences."

I rolled my eyes and then shoved my cigarette into his hand. "Hold this."

"Right," he said. "Wouldn't want him to think you're trashy or anything."

"Shut up," I said as I walked away.

I walked over to the group of guys. Blue Shirt Guy saw me coming and stepped away. "Hey."

"Hey," I said.

"What's up?"

This is so weird. I thought. "Uh, not much. You know. Just chillin' with my friend."

"Sweet," Blue Shirt Guy said, glancing at Dean. "Your boyfriend?"

"Just a friend," I said. "So I was wondering if you have a smoke? My buddy took mine."

He looked me up and down while I studied him. He sort of had a rocker look with his hair spiked to a point in the front, plus his skinny jeans and v-neck t-shirt. His dark eyes were almost impossible to see in the shadows of the dark, but I could just barely see a brownish tint because of the light of the bonfire.

"I'm surprised a guy like you doesn't have his own stash of fags," he answered. "Seth, right? We had biology together last year."

"Right," I said, though he could have been bluffing as I had no recollection of anything that had happened in that class.

He smirked and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, handing me one. "I doubt you remember. You spent the majority of the class with your head down on the desk. And then you spent the test days waiting for Mr. Thompson to turn around so you could take out all the review sheets and copy the answers down."

I felt my cheeks heat up a little. I was glad it was dark so he couldn't see. "Well what kind of idiot makes the review sheet and the test identical? If I already did it once, why should I do it again?"

"I would say that's a valid argument, but you didn't actually do the review sheet. I have it on good authority that you paid John Cena to do it," he said with a playful smirk.

I spun the cigarette between my fingers and laughed. "I didn't pay him. He had the class the year before me so he just found his and gave it to me. You got a light?"

"Mhmm, I would believe that," he said, digging in his pocket and producing a small Zippo. "except why would he keep all his old school junk?"

I snatched the lighter out of his hand. "Because I asked him to."

"And he just does whatever you say."

"Yep," I said, lighting the cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

"I have a hard time believing he did it for nothing…"

I handed the Zippo back. "What are you suggesting?"

He grinned. "Nothing. So could I buy you a beer?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Well how 'bout your number then?"

I grinned. "How 'bout you give me your number instead."

"Promise you'll text me?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I never make promises I know I might not keep."

"Fair enough."

He gave me his number and then I said goodbye. As I walked back to Dean I stared at the digits, knowing that before I fell asleep tonight they'd be deleted, as if they never even existed at all.

"Ta-da!" I said, showing Dean the number as I sat down next to him on the deck steps.

He looked at the screen and laughed. "You put him in as Blue Shirt Guy. You didn't even get his name?"

"Nope," I said. "Waste of time seeing as I don't care. At all. Now it's your turn."

His head snapped up and he looked me in the eye. "What?"

I raised my eyebrows at him. "I'm not the only one who needs party experience. This is your first party too. Your turn to go get someone's number."

"Um, no," he said. "I'm good."

"Um, yes," I said. "You have to. Fair is fair."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I'm already with the person I want to be with," he said and nudged my shoulder with his.

I smiled and said, "You're lucky I like you."

"Not like you would ever like me like I like you," Dean said under his breath.

I took a sideways glance at him. "What that supposed to mean?"

He sighed. "Never mind."

"No," I said. "Tell me what you meant." I could practically hear the beat of my own heart in my ears. I knew exactly what he meant, because I obviously felt the same way, but I was too afraid to say anything.

And then he smiled a sugary sweet smile that sent something of an electric feeling through me. He leaned down and let his lips soundlessly brush mine for no more than a second. Then he looked at me, his nose almost touching mine. "For what it's worth I'm glad I came here simply because I get to be here with you."

"Ok, Cheese-ball," I said with a smile. I took a last drag on my cigarette before flicking the end off into the wet grass in front of us. "And by the way, you shouldn't think negatively. Because I do like you like you like me."

I grabbed his face and smashed our lips together; sparks flying everywhere. And at that moment I knew I was in love with Dean Ambrose.

* * *

**So, yeah, ambrollins kinda just became a thing. Review, favourite & follow!**

**Ciara x **


	14. Chapter 13

**Accidentally spent like a hundred euro shopping online today but oh well. Wrote three chapters today, so expect new chapters like immediately.**

**heres the chapter!**

* * *

The next morning I got up for work with a slight pain in my head and a stomachache. After I showered, I couldn't find the motivation to style my hair so I just let it dry into a mess. Then I pulled on a pair of tight capris and my black converse with a short sleeve v-neck shirt. After finishing getting ready, I went to pick up Phil, who wore a similar outfit with his hair more greasy than usual.

"Why are we at work at nine o'clock? This is a bowling alley," I said once we got to work. "Who really goes bowling at nine a.m.?"

"I don't know," croaked Phil. "People with no lives. People who want to do one last 'fun' thing before they go home and kill themselves."

Another guy we worked with walked over to us and said, "Well this is also a restaurant so some people want to eat. Like those people who just walked in. Go take their order."

We groaned as Mark Callaway and his family walked in and sat down at a table. Phil turned to me. "At least Michelle's not there."

"So true."

Phil went over to the table to take their order. After he left to go get their drinks, Mark wandered over to the bar where I was standing by the cash register.

"Hello, sir," I said. "What size bowling shoes can I get for you today?"

He smirked. "None for now, thanks. So how's it going?"

"Well I'm up at nine in the morning, so not too great. You?"

"I'm alright," he said. "So…I heard you were at the Ryders last night. Fun party?"

I shrugged. "It was a fun time. Were you there?"

"No," he said. "I'm not really the partying type."

"Shocking," I said.

He smirked. "Yeah. Well. I just don't want to do anything stupid."

"Well stupid things are pretty much the essence of my being," I said.

"Somehow I'm not surprised to hear you say that," he said. "Well…just don't do anything too stupid."

"I'll do my best."

He motioned back to his parents. "I should get back. I just wanted to say hi. I'll see you in school then I guess."

"Yup," I said. "Bye."

"I heard he and Michelle might go out again," Phil said, walking up behind me as he walked away. "He could use a good party. Alcohol might be the only thing that could get him to admit to himself that Michelle is an evil psycho bitch."

"He's a prude," I said. "When he turns 30 he'll realize that his life is pretty much just a big sack of dump. Especially because if anyone decides to have sex with him, it'll be Michelle. And who would want to live with that?"

"Ew!" Phil said, laughing and shoving my shoulder. "Shut up! I'm already nauseous. Don't make me spew all over you."

"I'm just saying. Look at his life! It's a weekend and he's up before noon to eat with his parents. You know what he'll do later? Sit at home and text Michelle. And he'll do the same thing tomorrow. And the next day. And every other day after that until one day he cracks and goes back out with Michelle and lives the rest of his life in the misery that his high school life has doused him in."

"Why would he pick Michelle?" Phil wondered, shaking his head. "I mean, he may not be as hot as John—but then again, no one is—or Roman, or lots of other guys but I mean he's not that bad looking. I mean he could go for…an alternate on the gymnastics team. Or maybe someone who plays tennis?"

"Do you think he actually likes her personality?" I asked.

"No!" Phil said. "I could write a freaking novel about her personality and how no one could ever learn to love it. I could have a magazine all about how not to act, and Michelle would be on the cover of every single issue. If I had a TV show then I would revolve it around the most unlikable people in the world and Michelle would be at the start of every episode."

I laughed. "We could just start a massive business about all things Michelle and make a fortune off of it because all the 'Michelle's' of the world would love it."

Phil shuddered. "I hate to think about how there are more people like her in the world."

"Amen."

* * *

"LEFT, I said move it left! Are you stupid? God! It's like I have to do everything myself around here!" Natalya screamed.

"If I move any further left I will fall off this chair and break my neck and die so you can just shut your Goddamn hole," I yelled back, whirling around on the chair I was standing on, nearly losing my balance.

Today was the day of Beth's bridal shower. Natalya had proclaimed herself as the leader. I'd never realized it before, but she was almost as bossy (bitchy) as Beth.

This was pretty much how their little group worked: Beth was the evil Queen who had no morals, values or a soul. When she said something, all her cohorts were at her beck and call. Natalya was her second in command. She was kind of like a vampire; she lived in the shadows of Bethand was always on the verge of an attack. Also, she was never in the sun for long periods of time. She claimed it was because she had fair skin and burned really easily, but I was pretty sure she was just afraid of bursting into flames.

Then there was Mickie who was kind of like a werewolf. She was pretty quiet and chill most of the time, but once in a while she's lose it and go insane; usually when Natalya was off getting her nails done and Beth needed help terrorizing someone. Although werewolves acted mean, they were really just oversized puppies who didn't pose a real threat.

And then there was Trish, who was nothing more than a typical Trish: pretty, nice, soft-spoken, and eager to please everyone. She was also obsessed with how she looked and was constantly fixing her hair instead of getting tied up in whatever meaningless battle Beth was engaged in.

At that moment during the preparation for the bridal shower, I was trying to hang a 'congratulations' banner over the fireplace mantle. Since Beth wasn't there, Natalya had taken charge, while Trish and Mickie sat on the couch reading magazines.

"Honestly? You'd probably be more help if you were dead because then I wouldn't have to waste my time supervising you," she said.

"Why can't you just do this yourself then?" I demanded. "You're taller than me anyway so you could do it right. You know, because you're so astounding and all."

"Ugh. I don't have time for this," she said, spinning on her heel and walking over to the kitchen.

I dropped the banner and hopped off the chair. Dean shook his head at me from where he was sitting on the love seat. "Giving up? I really thought you had more potential."

I sat next to him. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"I'll show you how it's done," he said. He stood and went over to the banner and got on the chair. He pinned the corner to the wall, making the banner flawlessly straight.

"I had no idea you were so talented," I said as he returned to his seat next to me.

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" he said. "I'm perfect."

"I already knew that."

"Phew, I'm glad we got that covered," he said. "So are you staying for this wedding shindig?"

"Uh, hell no," I said.

"I can't wait until your wedding," Dean said. "I wonder if you'll even show up."

I laughed. "Well, my wedding will be a tad bit different from this one. Like, I won't be Beth. And I also won't marry anyone with Beth's personality. And my mom isn't controlling and pushy like her mother. Oh, and did I mention I'm nothing like Beth?"

"Don't worry," Dean said. "I know you're not like her at all. And I know you'll never be like her. Although I'm sure I will love you no matter what your personality is like when you and I get married."

"What?" I said, slightly flustered. "Who said I'm marrying you?"

"Who said you're not marrying me?"

"Touché," I said, my face heating up more than a pre-heated oven.

He shrugged. "I guess. But still, we sure are a good match. We just go together."

I looked up at him, his face inches from mine. He was smirking hugely. "Maybe."

He leaned down and kissed me passionatley. "It's true. I promise."

* * *

I ended up sitting in my room, halfheartedly working on my homework for most of the party. I could hear lots of yelling and laughing coming from downstairs. Not once was I tempted to go down there even for just a second.

A few hours into the party, my boss called Dean to see if he could come in for a job interview. The time they agreed on happened to be the time Phil was going to work, so he dropped by to pick him up first. I knew he'd get the job; the interview was nothing more than a formality.

At around seven (long after I'd abandoned my homework) there was a knock on my door and my dad walked in.

"Hey, Seth," he said, sitting on the end of my bed. "Let's talk for a sec."

"Ok," I said. I sat up and put the book I was reading on my nightstand. "What's up?"

"Well, first of all, I got home from running errands and I got kicked out of my living room because testosterone is strictly forbidden at wedding parties," he started. "So I figure now's as good a time as ever to come up here and chat with you."

"Alright," I said.

He looked at his hands, as if trying to find the best way to begin. When he looked up, he said, "You know that not many parents would allow some of the things that your mother and I allow, right? You are aware of this?"

"Yeah…" I said.

"Constance and I trust you one hundred percent," he went on. "And I don't want either of you to forget that. And I think the main reason we're so lenient is because of my job. Most of the kids I worked with come from bad homes and families and unhealthy upbringings. So I know how kids can turn out when they're subjected to that kind of thing…" he paused for a second, and looked past me to something I'd never be able to see. "I know that it's hard for those kids to open up. Especially to adults…because they've been mistreated by grownups so they can't trust them. So many times, it's easier for them to talk to people closer to their own age…someone they can hope to relate to."

He looked me straight in the eye then. "And I would like for you to try to get Dean to talk to you. From the time I've spent with him, I know that he has some deep family troubles that he doesn't know how to deal with. And he needs to know there's someone out there who will at least try to make an attempt to empathize with him. I think that should be you."

"Me? Why?" I asked.

"Well isn't it obvious? You're the first person in a long time to reach out to him. You invited him—a total stranger—into your home. You were nice to him. And now you're helping him get a job. Seth, for someone who has a background like he does this is huge for him. You may not see it, but I swear this is the complete truth. Now I don't know the whole story and I'm not asking you to write a biography about him, but you need to show him that you care and that you want to know."

"Well of course I want to know," I said. "But how can you even bring something like that up? I mean…we don't know anything about his life. What if he was the victim of rape or something? Bringing that up would be…I mean I can't imagine that talking about that would make him feel better about anything."

"But it would. Because once you've talked about it, you can admit to yourself that you need help. And if he was raped or something else horrendous like that then he needs to get it out in the open because he does need help. He may seem put together on the outside, but you have no idea what's going on inside."

I almost protested again, but instead I just said, "Ok, Paul. I'll do my best."

Because of all the years, days, seconds I'd known my father, he'd never led me astray and he never judged me for anything, not even once. And as far as I knew, he had always, always, been right.

He smiled and patted my knee. "I knew I could count on you, kiddo."

He got up to leave. When he got to the doorway, I said, "Wait."

He stopped and turned around.

"Why do you care so much about Dean? I mean, I know that you care about everyone. But it just seems like you're taking a special interest in him."

A thoughtful look crossed over Paul's face. "Because you brought him here. And that means he's important to you. And I always want you to remember that no matter what, Constance and I are here to support you. And we know that lots of children out there don't have that. You always will."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"Of course, dear," he said as he started walking away again. With a smirk, he added, "Don't study too hard."

"Don't worry," I replied. "I never do."

I fell asleep that night wondering how Dean could seem so happy on the surface while there was a possibility of him dying under the weight of the burden of all the secrets that were inside him—just eating him away.

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**So yeah, review, favourite and follow!**

**Ciara x**


	15. Chapter 14

**So, I was kinda stuck on this chapter so I just wrote this!**

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Phil and I met at a bookstore during the summer after sixth grade. We were on the upper level of the store looking at graphic novels. I was trying to find The Umbrella Academy while he was flipping through a copy of Watchmen.

I remember his bangs fell right in front of his eyes making it impossible to see them. His brown hair was an unbrushed mess that fell just past his ears. He had an oversized blue t-shirt on and a loose pair of jeans.

At the time I had fairly short hair that fell to the middle of my forehead. I always used to hide by keeping my head down. It was a good mechanism for avoiding people. I had a thin zip up sweatshirt on with the hood up and a baggy pair of jeans. I remember we both kept stealing glances at each other. Probably because we were dressed in the same sort of style.

Eventually, I found the book I was looking for. When Phil glanced over and saw it in my hands, he swept his bangs out of his eyes and took a step closer to me. "There's a sequel to that, you know."

"Yeah, I know," I said. "I only have enough for one though. I'll have to get the other some other time."

He studied me for a few seconds. Then he smiled. "I'm Phil."

"I'm Seth," I told him.

He asked me where I lived, what school I went to, did I have any brothers or sisters. And just like that we were friends. The story itself isn't that interesting, but the fact that we became friends was something of a fascination. Boys such as Phil and myself were not the kind of people other boys wanted to be friends with. Boys like us were troublesome. We didn't care what the consequences of our actions were; act now, think later was what we lived by.

Phil and I almost never disagreed about anything. We had the same sense of humor, the same style, and the same distain for school and the people in it. Other than John and Roman, who we befriended shortly after meeting at the bookstore, we had no interest in meeting the acquaintance of anyone else.

Our reputation became permanent when high school started. Between cutting classes, detention, and a few suspensions, Phil and I spent most of our time not caring about homework, projects or school in general.

In gym class, students who wanted to shower were excused from the pointless gym class activities exactly six minutes early. No one ever took advantage of that—showering at school was probably one of the most disgusting things one could imagine.

Phil and I, however, benefitted from this privilege. But instead of showering in those six minutes, we sat in the corner smoking and talking until the other boys entered the locker room. Then we stubbed out the cigarettes and shoved them down the holes of the shower drain.

Phil was the first friend I'd ever made after my best friend, Aj left town. He was the only part of my life that stayed the same while everything else changed. My brother went from being the happy, cheery boy to the dark, antisocial person he is now. Paul settled into his new job with his new students and Constance found a friend in the owner of the wine boutique downtown. People came, and people left. But Phil was always there. He never changed. He was always himself. And he always would be.

I would say that the day in the bookstore was fate, but I didn't believe in fate anymore. In fact, after hearing stories of the kids my dad worked with, I stopped believing in everything. Things just happened. They were all random events. There was no coincidence, but rather the illusion of coincidence. Phil was in the bookstore simply because he had nothing better to do that day. I was in the bookstore because I wanted a book. Had he not been there, or had I gone an hour later, it would have been someone else.

But I was grateful that we both chose that time and place nonetheless.

I met Roman and John shortly after meeting Phil. Seventh grade was starting. On the first day of middle school, I was determined to make it through without talking to anyone. Unfortunately, teachers think that it's enjoyable to do 'ice breaker' games on the first day of school. They say it's because they want the class to get to know each other. But really they just didn't feel like wasting five minutes of their summer to come up with a lesson plan for the first day or two of school.

By the time the last class of the day came around, I was so tired of talking to all these people whose names I didn't care to remember, I just sat in the corner. Even after the teacher explained this ice breaker activity (something stupid that had to do with clothespins) I didn't get out of my seat.

A skinny boy with long brownish-blonde hair took a seat next to me. He didn't say anything and he didn't look at me. He just let his hair fall like a curtain around his face as he stared down at the desk as he took out a sketch pad and a black pen. He opened it up to a page with a half drawn girl on it. The part that shocked me was that I actually recognized the girl.

"Is that Brody Dalle?" I asked.

He snapped his head up and looked at me. The first thing I noticed about him was that his eyes were a gorgeous, piercing light blue. His voice was low and quiet when he answered, "Uh, yeah."

"She's like my idol. The Distillers are the best woman-fronted punk band ever," I said. I turned my gaze to the picture. "You're good."

"Thanks," he said with something of a sheepish smile. His cheeks turned a little red.

"What's your name?" I asked. "When your work is hanging next to the Mona Lisa, I want to be able to say I knew you back when you were just a shy seventh grader doodling in the corner of the classroom."

He smiled wider. "It's John. What about you? You know, just so when I'm famous I can tell everyone that you were the first person who believed I could be as good as Leonardo Di Vinci."

"Seth," I said.

From that day on, I always looked forward to 7th hour English. John and Phil got along really well. After they met, John introduced us to his friend Roman when we were at his house. I remember that day, Roman held up the beer bottle he was holding in something of a silent toast to greet us, and the four of us became the inseparable untouchables.

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**Short, I know, but I kinda like it. Review, favourite & follow!**

**Ciara x**


	16. Chapter 15

**Here's chapter 15! And Aj makes an appearance! Well, kind of, but ya know. **

**I kind of nearly cried writing the end of this chapter, so be warned.**

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Seth!

Can you believe it?! Only one more year of high school left! Then…it's onto the real world. I should probably be looking at colleges and all that junk. But why would I do that when I can just keep putting it off? Besides, I'm sure you're doing the exact same thing.

I hope your exams went well. Not that you care. School was never something you worried about. I wish I was as carefree as you. Besides, grades are more reflections of teachers, don't you think? I failed my English test so badly it brought my grade from a B to a D-. I still passed though! If only my dad understood this is an accomplishment, not something to ground me for. Boo.

I really hope you can come visit me soon. I miss you so much.

Well, my dad just called me…I'll bet you a million dollars it's because of some other exam I failed. Grr. Why am I so dumb? Hey, you don't have to go to college to be a McDonalds manager do you? Hmm…

Well anyway, I love and miss you so so so so so SO MUCH! Call or write anytime!

XOXOXO, Aj

"What's that?"

I looked up and saw Dean standing in the doorway of my room.

"Just a letter from my friend, Aj, who moved away," I said.

"That's sweet," Dean said. "Do you miss her a lot?"

I nodded. "It sucks that I don't ever get to see her. Like, she was the only friend I'd ever had before I met Phil.

Dean looked down. "Yeah I can imagine. Leaving people is never easy."

"Did you leave a lot of friends when you left Florida?" I asked.

"Not really," he said. "I only went to school for first grade, and even then I hardly went. And I definitely didn't have friends there."

"Why not?" I asked. "You didn't beat them all up, did you?

He smiled. "No, I could only dream of being that badass, especially at that age. People just didn't like me much…it was understandable though."

"How so?"

He looked at me. "My parents—my family—they weren't like yours. Remember when I told you my mom homeschooled me? She didn't. She just got tired of getting calls from school at five o'clock telling her to come pick me up. So she bought some textbooks, signed some forms and that was all she did. She didn't actually teach me anything."

"But why?" I asked. "I mean, she just forgot to pick you up every day? That's terrible."

"I know," he said in a hoarse whisper. "But it wasn't her fault…she didn't mean to."

I didn't say anything. Mostly because I couldn't. Even though there was a part of me that wanted to ask for him to continue, another part of me didn't want to know. You can't un-hear things, can't unlearn them, can't just turn off the knowledge one has acquired.

Dean just stared at my blue duvet cover, doing everything not to meet my eyes. "I mean…yeah, she did some bad stuff, but she was my mom. And I loved her. And she loved me. She just made some bad decisions. But everyone does that, right?"

"I suppose," I said. "Although that's not to say that some decisions aren't worse than others. Because no matter what there are always consequences. Once something's done, it's done and you can't take it back. And you have to deal with whatever comes next."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "But I just don't want to blame my mom. It wasn't her fault. And she and my dad tried so hard to make my sister and my life good. Or rather as good as it could be under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?" I asked.

"Just…not having that much money and stuff I guess," he said. "Our house only had 3 rooms. There was a bathroom, a bedroom, and another room that was both a kitchen and a family room with a microwave, a mini fridge, a couch and a futon. The couch was my sister's bed and the futon was mine," Dean looked up and passed me at the window with a faraway look in his eyes. A small reminiscent smile crawled across his face. "Sometimes when the weather was nice and the sky was clear, my sister and I would grab our pillows and blankets and we'd go outside and sleep in the backyard under the stars. We'd listen to the waves crash onto the beach that was near where we lived.

"I'll never forget those nights," he continued. "I loved Florida. And Jacksonville. Such an attractive name, don't you think? And it was a beautiful place…mostly. Every night, my sister would tell me stories of what we could do when we were older. She wanted to be an actress even though she was afraid of people. She wanted to be rich and live on a yacht with me and our parents. She just wanted us all to be happy together. She wanted to take care of our parents…because they weren't exactly good at taking care of themselves. She wanted to save them."

I tentatively put my hand lightly on his. He looked at me and I said, "She sounds like a wonderful person."

His eyes watered a little but no tears escaped. "She was. Oh, Seth, you don't even know. She was always so happy. So full of life. Her hopefulness got me through the worst of times. She told me stories all the time. When we went into town to get groceries and people stared at us, she always defended me…defended our family. She could walk with her head held high no matter what. Even when we walked up to the cash register and found we didn't have enough money for what we were getting. And no matter what…on those trips I always got her a Heath bar because I knew they were her favourite. Even if it meant putting something back—something my parents had told us to get—I'd do it every time. And then when we got home and put everything away and cleaned up the house, I'd kiss her forehead and whisper 'Don't ever forget I love you, Kelly. I love you a million pretty fireflies.'"

Any hint of happiness in his eyes left. "I miss her so much."

"What's her name?" I asked, instead of asking the question I really wanted to ask, which was What happened to her?

"Kelly," he told me. "She was a few years younger than me."

"Pretty name," I said.

He smiled a smile filled with pain. "Yeah. It suited her."

"I don't doubt it," I said. "So…"

He looked me in the eyes then. "I know you want to know where she is now. And I would love to tell you. But I can't. Because I don't know."

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**Oh, By the way Kelly is based on Kelly Kelly, but if you don't want to picture her that way, you don't have to!**

**Review, favourite & follow!**

**Ciara x**


	17. Chapter 16

**Haven't updated in like a week cos I had no wi-fi, but I wrote loads. So expect lots of chapters coming soon.**

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After that, I told Dean I was going to the kitchen to get something to eat. I wasn't hungry but I could tell by the way his eyes glistened that he needed to be alone. He told me he'd probably get to sleep soon. He had to work the next day.

I walked into the kitchen and immediately regretted it. At the table was Constance, Phil's mom (my mother's best friend/wine tasting party buddy), Beth, her mom Kimberly, a guy who looked incredibly uncomfortable who I'd never seen before, and a woman who I presumed to be his mother.

"Seth!" Constance said cheerfully. Or maybe it was the wine that said it. "Your timing is superb. We were just discussing the flower options for the church. I was thinking roses, although carnations are nice too. Kimberly thinks daisies would be the right choice, but Ellen thinks tulips are the way to go. Any input?"

Ellen (who I assumed to be the boy's mother) barely even glanced at me. In the half a second glance, she assessed my outfit (red tight skinny jeans with many rips with a maroon v-neck t-shirt) and my hair (it was long, and blonde on one side but jet black on the other, and I knew it was a mess since I hadn't bothered to do anything with it). After this brief appraisal, I knew it didn't matter what I said because she'd never take any advice I had when it came to this wedding. If anything, my suggestion would tell her what not to do.

"Violet Carsons," I said. "They're the prettiest roses you'll ever see."

The guy looked up at me. "Are those like Scarlet Carsons? Like from V For Vendetta?"

"In a sense, they're exactly the same," I said. "Except Scarlet Carsons aren't real. They were just made up for the movie. But in the book they were Violet Carsons because they wanted to stick with the whole 'V' theme. And also, they're real."

"Sweet," he said. He turned to the rest of the ladies at the table, which excluded my mom and Alice (Phil's mom) who had gotten up to refill their wine glasses. "Would that be a possibility?"

"God, Seth," Beth said with an eye roll. "Why do you have to be such a freaking nerd? This is my wedding. Not a comic convention."

"You're right," I said. "Because if it was a comic convention it would be cool, interesting, and worth going to. It would be absolutely nothing like you're wedding."

"Mom!" Beth yelled, turning to my aunt Kimberly. "Are you hearing this?"

"We don't have time for this nonsense," Ellen insisted. "We need to pick the flowers so we can order them. This wedding is only slightly more than a month away."

"Seth, this is Johnny and his mother Ellen," Kimberly said. "Also known as, Emma's fiancé and his mother."

"Ah, so you're the unlucky sap," I said. "Pity. You seemed so normal up until five seconds ago."

"Seth!" Constance scolded.

"Why are you trying to ruin my life?!" Beth yelled.

"Me?!" I yelled back. "You're the one ruining lives! You have taken over my house with all your wedding shit, and all you ever do is act like you're the queen of the fricken world!"

"Ha!" Beth yelled, standing up and slapping her hands down on the table. "I'm getting married. Know why? Someone actually wants to marry me. Someone wants to be with me. You think that would ever happen for you, mister tacky punk?"

"Baby—" Johnny started.

"That is enough!" Kimberly yelled. "Both of you."

"Young man," Ellen said to me. "You are too young to understand the stress and hard work that goes into a wedding. Maybe you will someday—" her tone suggested she thought otherwise— "but this is a big day for our children and we will not have you being a brat while we're trying to organize this like civil people."

Constance's glass stopped halfway to her lips. "Did you just call my son a brat?"

I shook my head and sighed, then I turned to Johnny. "Good luck."

I spun around stomped up the stairs, not bothering to listening to anymore of their yelling. As I whipped the door open, Dean was already sitting up on the bed and staring in my direction, as if he were just waiting for me to stomp in. He immediately jumped up and engulfed me in a hug.

"I heard everything," he said. His voice was velvety soft.

"I hate Beth," I whispered against his chest. "She's a horrible person and I hope her stupid fiancé realized that and leaves her and finds a nice girl who actually knows what a Violet Carson is and who doesn't think comics are lame and doesn't become a total monster when they get engaged and who is worthy of someone who seems so nice while Beth slowly withers away into nothing more than a pile of bitchiness that we can sweep up and throw away and the garbage man can just take her away forever."

"I'm not sure garbage men actually pick up hazardous waste," Dean said. "But it's worth a shot. If it doesn't work though, I think we have a couple shovels. We could bury her in the backyard."

I laughed and pulled away from his embrace. He smiled down at me before bending down to kiss my forehead. "Whatever she said, it's not true. She was a psycho before, but now she's a psycho with a wedding to plan, Seth. She's just insane."

I laughed again. "I know. But I just wish she wasn't such a…such a…"

"Self absorbed bitch?"

"In a wedding dress."

"I can't even imagine."

"That's because you never had to deal with a bridezilla," I said.

"That's an exception," Dean said. "A very good, very cooperative, very understanding exception."

"Lucky bastard."

He smiled. "Seriously though. What she said…just ignore it. She doesn't even know you at all. All she sees is a person who is worlds different from her. She just assumes that's a bad thing."

I looked down. "Maybe it is."

"Hey," he put his finger under my chin and tilted my head up. "Don't look down. It hides your pretty face from the world."

Then he bent down and kissed me quickly and said, "And you being different from her isn't a bad thing. It isn't even a good thing. It's nothing short of a great thing."

Later that night when we finally went to bed, I laid my head on his chest and he kept his arm tightly around me. We talked for a while until eventually his breathing slowed and his mumbling turned into silence.

I just laid there for a while, nestled in the perfect spot on his chest, right in between his shoulder and his neck. I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythm of his heartbeat until it lulled me into a shallow sleep.

One of my favorite things about Dean was waking up in his arms. He was such a warm person and he made me feel safe in an odd way. Like I wanted to get closer to him even though there was already no room in between us. Plus, unlike some people, Dean was a cute sleeper. He looked so innocent, like nothing bad had ever happened to him.

I laid awake for about an hour before Dean stirred and started to regain consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes and cracked a small smile. In his scratchy morning voice, he said, "Hey."

"Hi," I said, smiling back at him.

He stroked my hair and kept his gaze even with mine. "Have I told you lately how cute you are?"

"Shut up," I said rolling my eyes. I started to sit up but he pulled me back down.

"It's true, my darling Seth."

"You're so weird," I said, but I didn't try to get up again.

"So I've been told," he murmured, closing his eyes again. "What time is it?"

I checked the clock. "Almost ten."

"Ugh," he said. "I have to be at work in an hour.

"You should get on that."

"Probably."

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I think I have to go downstairs."

"You think you have to go," he said.

"No," I said. "I really do. I have to go clean up this Beth mess."

"Ew, you make it sound like she exploded or something."

"Ugh, if only," I said. "Do you know how much quieter and easier and better all around my life would be? It would be like if suddenly the idea of the apocalypse just disappeared. Or if they put peanut butter in a squeezable container. Life would just be better."

He laughed. "So true. It's too bad we live in the real world where we live in fear of the end of the world while using knives to spread peanut butter."

"I know," I sighed against his skin. "I can usually handle it. But sometimes I hear my mom crying in her room about it. Life's hitting her hard, man."

"Do you really hear Constance crying?" Dean asked, a touch of concern entering his tone. "I've never heard it."

I shrugged. "Sometimes. What can I say? She's weird."

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**Not my best chapter, but there's more to come!**

**Oh, and by the way, V for Vendetta is a pretty amazing movie.**

**Ciara x **


	18. Chapter 17

**So I like this chapter. You get to learn about Deans past! **

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It wasn't even an exaggeration. Constance was weird. But it was the kind of weird that a family becomes accustomed to after a certain amount of time. Her weirdness was normal in our family.

When I was in fourth grade, she went through a duck obsession. Everything was about ducks. She got duck printed shower curtains and bath mats. She bought a bunch of books with ducks on the cover and she even bought a pair of duck slippers. It wouldn't have been as bad if she just wore them around the house, but the fact that she wore them when she went out grocery shopping or to school events made it hard to Greg and me to bear it.

She did other kooky things too. Like with her car, for instance, if more than a week went by without any rain or snow, Constance insisted on keeping the windshield wipers on even if it was a cloudlessly sunny day.

For a while, Greg and I just laughed about it. Then Paul found out about it. When he confronted her about it, she simply said, "I don't want them to feel unneeded."

I don't think I could ever forget the look on Paul's face that day.

For a while, Paul thought it best that Constance saw a therapist or attended AA meetings. It was true that Constance loved her red wine, but she never drank beyond a point of being tipsy, and she never did it right before she drove. Nevertheless, she attended therapy for a few months. Her behavior didn't change in the slightest.

When I was younger I used to hear her crying in her room in the middle of the night. The worst was when Paul accidently knocked a glass duck figurine off the counter. When he got a broom to clean it up, Constance gave him a horrified look and screamed "No!" Then she bent down and cleaned up every single piece by hand while we all helplessly watched. Later that evening after Paul told Greg and I to get off to bed (bed at seven o'clock? Yeah right), I tiptoed into his room and we peered out his window into the backyard where Constance was burying a shoebox filled with glass duck shards.

Aj thought my mother was fascinating. She often asked her random questions, usually relating to whatever we were learning about in school (outer space, past presidents, multiplication) just to see what strange answer Constance would give her. Not shockingly, Constance loved Aj.

Phil, on the other hand, was a little afraid of Constance, though he'd never admit it. He'd got used to her by now but when we were younger her strangeness and her intensity usually kept him at a safe distance from her. I teased him about it sometimes, but he always just said it was because her perfume was a little too strong and it bothered his allergies.

She only bought that perfume because there was a duck on the bottle.

Instead of going home, I went over to Maple Valley, which is a retirement center and assisted living facility for elderly people. At least, that's what they say in their brochures. Really that's just a fancy way of saying it's a nursing home.

I'm not a huge fan of old people, but Roman worked there, so Phil and I sometimes went there to hang out and harass him. What are friends for?

At first, the idea of Roman working at a nursing home was hysterical—so much that John, Phil and I laughed about it so much it got to the point where Roman actually got mad, which is a very rare thing for him. But then, after a while, we all realised that Roman working there was actually quite genius. He was always full of energy, he had all the patience in the world, he was very understanding, and he would talk to anyone about anything, plus he loved hearing stories—even if they were long boring old people stories.

When I got to Maple Valley, I found Phil sitting at one of the dining tables flipping through a Home and Gardens magazine while Roman cleared the tables of half eaten mush that had been left from lunch. He waved at me as I took a seat across from Phil.

"Hey, trash bag," I said. "Fancy meeting you here."

"What? Come on, I love the stench of denture cream and soiled Depends," he said, flipping the magazine shut.

"Why haven't they made that into a body lotion fragrance yet?" I asked.

"I don't know man, but when they do, gimme a call," he said.

"I shall do that."

A confused looking old man walked up to Roman. He talked in a soft voice and he looked worried as he said something to Roman, who put his hand on the man's shoulder in somewhat of a reassuring manner and pointed towards the bathroom. A look of relief came over the man's face.

Phil laughed. "Please, never let me get old."

I shook my head. "Did he think the bathroom just disappeared?"

"Maybe he forgot what a bathroom was entirely and he didn't know where sprinkle his blood-urine mix."

"Oh, God, let's never get old."

"Ugh," Phil said. "Well let's at least promise each other that if we do end up getting old, we will not end up like our mothers."

I shuddered then linked my pinky with his. "I swear on everything on this earth that is good and holy."

"Good," he said. "Your mom was over at my house last night. Apparently there was some sort of outburst involving Beth? Did you really tell her that her wedding sucks compared to a comic book convention? Dude that's awesome! It's about time someone told her how it really is."

"Now that I think about it, that may not have been the best example," I said. "I mean, not everyone is obsessed witch comics like us."

"But they should be," he said. "That's all that counts man." He sighed. "But in all seriousness, we need to do something about Alice and Constance because I think they honestly have a psychological problem."

"Agreed," I said as Roman tripped over the edge of a chair and dropped three plates, sending leftover food flying all over the floor.

"Well last night I came home at like 11 after work and they were watching TV. But they were only watching the commercials."

"What?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah. They muted it when the show was actually on and they talked and such, but when the commercials came on they un-muted it and got really quiet. I thought I was imagining it at first but then I sat there and watched them for a while…"

"Are you serious?"

"Dead."

I shook my head. "They need counseling."

"My dad's trying to get Alice to see a shrink," Phil told me. "But she said there's nothing wrong with her. Then she went outside to do the dishes."

"How does that work?"

"She uses the hose."

"Ah."

"Dad and I eat off paper plates."

"Understandable."

"Only to you because you know what I'm going through. Thank God."

"Oh yes," I said, rolling my eyes. "Constance organized all her books alphabetically by the first word in every book."

"Who has time for that?!"

"Her, apparently," I said. "She also likes to wear her prom dresses from the 70s to the launder mat where she only washes her socks. Why? She's tired of her socks getting mixed up with everyone else's in our family. So instead of just doing a separate load of laundry of her stuff at our house, she drives down town and pays to wash her socks there. In her ancient clothing."

Phil shuddered. "Alice wears her clothes inside out sometimes because the tags bother her. And she can't just cut out the tags because she thinks the clothes would decrease in value or something."

"This is the woman who is practically a hoarder when it comes to clothes?" I asked. "As if she'd ever sell it anyway!"

"I know! Honestly, I think she's saved every piece of clothing since middle school."

"I wonder if they were like this before they discovered wine," I said.

"Probably," she said. "The wine just gives them something to blame their weirdness on. Not that they'd ever admit they were weird."

We watched for a minute as Roman scrubbed the floor. Some old woman standing near looked at him admiringly. Strangely, lots of people here looked at Roman that way; like he was some sort of hero. He was so sweet to all the people, even though some of them couldn't remember who he was or where they were. He always tried to reassure them and make them feel loved even though he didn't even know them.

A lot of it was just because Roman was a sweet person all around. His goofy personality and his constant laughing made everyone want to be around him all the time, which was why he was the only one in our little "group" that had other friends besides us. But I think another part of it was that his grandparents all passed away before he was old enough to know them, so in a way, I thought that maybe this was a way to make him feel like he wasn't missing out on anything.

"Well, I might go say hi to my grandma," Phil said, referring to his dad's mom who resided in Maple Valley. "Wanna come? You can help me come up with stupid things to say when the conversation goes from 'why aren't you more like I was when I was young?' to 'if I dressed like you do when I was your age, my daddy woulda smacked me so hard my cheek woulda had his handprint for a week!'"

I laughed. "I think I'll pass this time, but tell her I said hello. We all know how much she loves me…especially after that one time when we used her credit card to buy converse and skinny jeans."

"We paid her back!" Phil said. "Like good God she told me to buy what I wanted! It was my birthday!"

I patted his shoulder. "Have fun, Phil."

"Oh yeah. Tons o' fun."

As he walked off, I sat and watched Roman run from the dining area to the kitchen and back again, talking to the residents and his coworkers all the while. The smile never left his face, not even for a second.

"Hey," someone said, walking over to the table I was sitting at.

I turned and saw Dean. "Hey! What brings you here?"

He sat down. "I was talking to your dad and he said you'd probably be here."

"What's up?" I asked.

"Not much," he answered. "You?"

"Same. Just got done talking to Phil about our crazy moms."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I like your mom."

"Yeah, she's alright."

"She reminds me a little of my mom," he said. "Which is a good thing."

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I didn't look at him and he didn't look at me. Finally, without looking up, he softly said, "Her name was Stacey. Kelly looked just like her. They both have dirty blonde hair like me, and big eyes. They mostly had the same personality too."

"Sounds like she was a good mom."

He laughed a humorless laugh. "Depends on how you look at it. To anyone else besides me…she probably wasn't a great mom. Not even a good mom. Or a mediocre mom. But I know she tried her hardest under the circumstances."

"Circumstances?"

"Yeah…" his voice trailed off. "She was…she was just…" He looked at me. "She really tried Seth. She did lots of bad stuff and so did my dad but every day they tried their hardest to be parents…but it just wasn't something that suited them."

"Dean, the fact that they had kids means that whether they like it or not, they have to be parents. It doesn't matter if it suits them or not," I said. "Whatever they did that you're trying to hide obviously wasn't right. Why are you protecting them?"

"Because if I don't who else will?" he said, more forcefully than I think he realized. "Everyone else just thought—they just thought they were…"

"Thought they were what?" I asked cautiously.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Drug addicts. Everyone else just thought they were drug addicts. When I went to school that's what people saw—the drug addicts' son. Same with the grocery store and the park and everywhere else. I mean, Jacksonville has a big enough population, but the part that we lived in…it just wasn't like the rest of the city."

Then he continued, "I never had anyone over to my house because I didn't want them to meet my parents. I didn't want them to see the needles and everything laying out for the world to see. They didn't just get high on pot every once in a while. They shot heroine, took pills…sold both. They didn't care that I knew or that Kelly knew. It was so hard sometimes. They'd forget to buy us food because when they were using they were never hungry."

"That's awful," I said.

He shrugged. "It was life. I couldn't change it, couldn't control it. It just happened to me. They were nice people though. Sometimes they took Kelly and I to carnivals and fairs. Or they'd buy us ice cream on Sunday afternoons." He continued to look down. "But despite that, I guess I never really knew the sober side of my parents."

"I'm so sorry," I said quietly.

He shrugged. "When they were coming down from their highs, they were mean. So I guess that had they ever decided to sober up, Kelly and I would have gone through a world of hurt."

"They didn't…did they ever hit you?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "Only when they weren't high. Or when they owed more money than they spent. But it wasn't them. It was—"

"You can't just blame everything they did on drugs," I said, trying to sound sincere. "It was their choice to start doing them in the first place, right?"

"I know," he whispered. "But I just had to make do with what I had."

"But you must have gotten tired of it at one point," I said. "I mean, you wouldn't be homeless if you wanted to stay there."

He shook his head. "That's not it. See…my grandmother—my mom's mom—stopped talking to my mom after she dropped out of high school. When she was 18, she kicked my mom out and told her she never wanted to see her again. She was divorced, and my grandfather was happily living his life with his new wife and their child, so he knew nothing about it. She lived with him for a time, then she just decided to leave. She got a job at some manufacturing plant and met my dad at a bar. She never went back to her mom."

He took a deep breath. "Two years ago, my grandmother found my mom. She came over and saw our house…which was really a tiny run down shack, as I mentioned before. She saw the needles and the rolling paper, the bugs, and everything that went with it. She tried to take Kelly and I away to live with her but my mom said no. She left, but not before she said she was calling child services."

Dean closed his eyes again and bit the inside of his lip, as if he was reliving the whole incident in his mind. "About a week later, early in the morning, there was a knock on the door. Kelly and I were playing Checkers on my bed. It was a gift we'd gotten the previous Christmas. It was one of the few Christmas's that we even got anything. My mom had been sitting at the kitchen table. I don't know what she was doing, but when the knock came, she froze and a look of terror entered her eyes. It's a look that will haunt me forever. My dad ran out from their room. He didn't have a shirt on and his arm was bleeding a little. He asked what was going on. Whoever was at the door knocked louder."

"My mom jumped up from where she was sitting, my dad just stood there, looking confused. She came over to me and pulled me over to the fridge, which wasn't quite pushed all the way against the wall. She shoved me hard behind it and told me not to make a sound. Right before she turned around, she said 'I love you, Dean. Please be safe.' The last time I saw her, she was turning to get Kelly. I heard the door swing open and people came in. Police officers and child services. My mother screamed and my father swore and my sister cried. There were footsteps, loud and uneven—as my family struggled to get away…"

Tears pooled up in his eyes as the memory continued. "Then they were gone. I got out from behind the fridge and searched the house, hoping I'd find Kelly crouching beneath the table or behind the dresser. But she wasn't there. I went outside. We didn't live near anyone, so there were no neighbors to talk to. There were no cars, but I knew that they'd be back—the police officers. And surely, my grandmother had told child services about me. They'd come and look for me. They'd take me away."

He finally looked at me. He wasn't crying, but tears escaped down his cheeks. "My mom told me to be safe. So I packed up the few things I needed and I left. But a piece of me will always be there in that house with my sister and my dad and my mom. Because I will never be the same without them."

* * *

**So, there it was.**

**Ciara x**


	19. Chapter 18

**This is the last chapter I'll update for now, as I'm too tired to check to other ones and upload them and everything, and because you guys probably don't want to read like four chapters.**

**So, here it is!**

* * *

Not many dramatic things have happened to me in my life. The worst times were usually with Constance and she was manageable. The most awful thing that happened was probably the brother Greg used to be. Greg used to like me. We used to hang out and we were friends. But now we went out of our way to avoid each other. Constance sometimes got over emotional about it and complained to Paul that she felt like she only had a younger son now. Paul never took her very seriously. He said it was just a phase and if she knew the other kids he worked with, she would understand.

Hearing Dean's story made that feel like nothing. It also made me feel a little disheartened because Dean said that all he wanted was his sister and that made feel ashamed that I took my brother for granted.

Dean told me a little bit more about his sister. He told me stories about when they were little growing up in Jacksonville. He talked a little bit about his parents. He said he can remember times when they didn't seem high—the times they were a happy family. When everything was ok in their little world.

And then he talked a little bit more about what happened after they left. He ran away from home after packing up a few of his things, but he didn't leave town right away. He looked everywhere for Kelly. He went to the school, went to her friend, Eve's (the only friend she had) house, and checked at hospitals around the area. Eventually, he just gave up.

"For a while, I just sat around in alleys crying, wondering what I should do," he said. "Wondering what I could do. And then…one not so special day I remembered what my mom said…the last thing she ever said to me. 'Be safe.' And so I stopped crying and thought really hard about what that meant. I came to the conclusion that I wouldn't be safe staying in Jacksonville or even Florida. Because wherever they took my parents and Kelly, my mom obviously didn't want me to go there too."

"I knew where my mom and dad kept their money—their drug money. It was a lot more than I thought it would be. So I went to the train station and got a ticket for the first train out which was to Washington—here. I just walked around aimlessly for a while. I had a little money left which I used for food but it was gone pretty quickly, so I pretty much just had to survive on what I could," he looked at me and smiled then. "Then I found you. And you offered me a place to stay and food that I didn't have to eat out of garbage cans. And you will never know just how much I truly appreciate that, Seth."

I smiled back at him. "Best decision of my life probably."

* * *

Later that night, I went to work, where I saw my three least favourite people in the world; Maryse Oullet, Michelle McCool and Mark Callaway.

Ok, so I guess Mark isn't one of my least favourite people. But he dated Michelle and he was friends with Maryse (or at least I assumed he was since all three of them were bowling together) which made me like him a little bit less.

Maryse had some boy with her. It didn't surprised me since Maryse always had some boy with her. You know how some people get called sluts even though they aren't sluts? Well, Maryse actually was a slut. She hung out with a guy until he asked her to be his girlfriend. Then she waited about a week before she had sex with said guy. Then after that went on for a while, she started to flirt with other guys (while still having sex with her "boyfriend" but ignoring him in public). Then the boyfriend would get all worried and confront her about it and she'd get fake mad and then break up with him because he "didn't trust her" and then start the cycle over with the guy she'd been flirting with.

It was pitiful and she made a bad name for the females of the world. As if it wasn't hard enough dealing with bad hair days, shaving their legs constantly, and menstruating for a week every single month (plus all the pain and suffering that went with it), now they had to try to keep our heads up while people looked at them and said, "Yup. That's the same gender as that skank Maryse Oullet."

Really, it was just upsetting.

And then there was Michelle McCool, who was now on crutches with no braces or casts on either of her legs. Not to mention, she put the crutches down to bowl, so really how much could she actually need them?

"When do you think Mark Callaway will get over Michelle McCool?" Phil asked.

"Probably when we stop talking about them using their full names," I answered. "Why, you interested?"

"No! I like Adam, remember?" he said. "And we really do always use their full names when we talk about them, don't we? Huh."

"Yeah it's weird. It's like talking about celebrities," I said. "Only in the case of famous people, it's because we have no personal connection to them and they seem unreal. In the case of these people, we wish they were unreal with no personal connection to us."

"Oh, that makes sense," Phil said.

"So speaking of Adam," I said. "how's that going for you?"

"Not well," Phil said. "I haven't talked to him him since the party. Every time I come into work, I secretly hope he and his friends will walk in so I can see him. Pathetic, right?"

I shook my head. "It's not pathetic. Although you could just text him."

"What?! No!"

"He gave you his number! He obviously wants you to text him," I pointed out.

"He should text me first though!" he insisted. "He's the guy. The guy is supposed to initiate conversations until we are actually dating."

I shrugged. "You're a guy, too, though. I hope you don't have to wait forever."

He rolled his eyes. "But he's more of a guy than I am. Maybe by the time he texts me, you and Dean will be dating finally and we can double date."

"Wha..? Dean and I are—"

"Excuse me gentlemen," our boss Kirk said, walking up behind us. "I understand that it's a slow day, but could you at least pretend to work? I mean, if Betsy—" (the manager) "—can drive while she's snorting meth, then I'm pretty sure you two can wipe down the counter while carrying on a conversation."

We mumbled our apologies and grabbed washcloths to halfheartedly wipe down the counter tops.

"He knows Betsy's on meth?" I asked.

"Apparently," Phil answered. "I wonder if he knew that when he hired her?"

"Probably. I mean, if he didn't, he most likely would have fired her when he found out right?"

"I guess," Phil said. "But anyway, what is up with you and Dean? You guys seem pretty…close."

I scratched the back of my neck. I probably shouldn't tell anyone that we were dating without his permission. Well, we weren't really dating…were we? At least, we hadn't necessarily made it official. "Nothing," I lied to Phil.

"Shut up!" he said, loud enough for Maryse to glance over. "You guys hang out all the time, you are pretty much the same person in two different bodies—you know, kind of like you and me only you like me more than him because you have to like your best friend just a smidge more than a guy you're into even if he is your best friend too—your family LOVES him, which is rare for your dad to approve of the one you're dating…hm, what am I missing? Oh yeah, he is SUPER in love with you. How would you not be good as a couple?"

"Because," I said. "he's one of my four friends who I actually hang out with and I don't want anyone to feel weird or something."

"No one would feel weird. In fact, it would be less weird because everyone already knows you like each other anyway."

"Do they now?"

"They do now."

"Huh. I don't know…I mean, I'm just not one for labels, you know?"

"I guess," he said. He grinned smugly. "But you should know that every single girl at school would kill to have Dean be their boyfriend, what with the stories about him from the party that was passed on from one girl to another. But he doesn't care. He just wants you."

"Then hopefully he won't mind waiting," I said honestly. "Because I have other things to worry about, and a relationship is not high up on that list of priorities."

He shrugged. "Understandable. But you should know that if you don't make it somewhat official soon, I will steal him from you. And if he doesn't come willingly, I am not afraid to resort to rape."

I laughed. "Oh, I know, my creepy little friend. I know."

* * *

When I got home that night, the house was quiet. I figured my parents were out to dinner. They went out together a lot. I used to wonder how Paul stood taking Constance out in public without being completely humiliated. But considering his job and his own somewhat strange personality, I figured that he took her out for the same reason he married her—her brain was intriguing to him and eventually he just fell in love with her weirdness.

Dean was laying down in my room. I figured that after he'd spilled his secrets to me earlier, I owed him a little space. So instead, I did something I never did—I went down to the basement to talk to my brother.

He was playing some videogame on his xbox. Something that had to do with zombies and lots of guns and blood.

He looked at me as I walked into the room. He didn't have makeup on and his hair was brushed out of his eyes. I felt a lump form in my throat. For that one second, I was looking at my brother; the one I grew up with who used to be my buddy.

"What?" he demanded. And the moment was over.

"Um, nothing," I said. "I just thought I left my hoodie down here."

He went back to his game. And I knew that Greg and I could never be as close as Dean and Kelly had been. I got a sudden urge to cry as I hurried back up the stairs.

For a split second, I had a vision of our future. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas…we'd come here to visit Paul and Constance. Constance would put food in the oven and Paul would take it out later because she forgot about it. I'd look at Greg's kids and see a couple of strangers that I only saw a few times a year. They'd smile politely at me and I'd ask them how they were and how school was.

Greg and I would awkwardly hug but not a real hug; more of a one armed half hug half quick pat on the back. I thought of the kids that I might have had by then and they'd look at their cousins and their uncle and see nothing more than their father's brother and his kids. My husband and Greg's wife wouldn't even look at each other out of embarrassment for not remembering each other's names.

To Greg, we weren't a family. We were an obligation. And as soon as the holiday ended, he'd go home and forget about everything. And I wouldn't see him again for a few months and the cycle would repeat. Probably until we died.

* * *

"What was middle school like?"

"Stupid," Roman said.

"Really stupid," I agreed.

Dean sighed. "Come on you guys! I really honestly want to know this stuff. I didn't get to go to school remember? Let me do the things I never got to by living them through you."

"It was a big square shaped establishment of stupid," Roman said.

"It was a waste of time. It turned time stupid," I said.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Dean, see that train over there?" Roman said, pointing down at the train tracks a few yards away from where we were sitting (on some benches at the park). "That train has not ever moved—not since I've been alive, anyway. Middle school is kind of like that train. You just kind of sit there just to be there. You don't do anything and you don't go anywhere."

"Also, occasionally people draw on you, when they're bored just because they want the whole world to see it," I added.

"So I can cross that off my list of things I'd do if I was reincarnated?" Dean asked.

"Definitely," Roman said.

"Double cross it out," I said.

"Alright, well there must be something good about it…?"

"Well, we all became friends with John then," Roman said. "That was probably the best part for me. Oh! Or there was this one time when Michelle McCool called Phil a dirty fag when we were in eighth grade and then Seth punched her in the face."

"What?" Dean said, laughing. "Seriously?"

"Oh no," Roman said. "It was a punch. We're talking blood and tears and everything. It was awesome."

I laughed. "Oh yeah, that was one of my finer moments. She totally deserved it though, in all seriousness. Gay people aren't even dirty. Well not all of them, anyway."

"And you were only suspended for two days!" Roman said. "So it all worked out."

"Oh definitely. Especially with that automatic fail I got on my math test. That was beautiful."

"As if you would have done any better if you actually took it," Roman said. To Dean, he said, "This one time when we were freshmen, Seth got so sick of math, he just drew a dinosaur eating an Eskimo on the test."

"It was good though!" I insisted. "And Mrs. Georgeson thought so too. Next to the big 'F' at the top, she wrote 'I had no idea you were so artistic! Are you enrolled in art?' It was just lovely."

"Do you still have it?" Dean asked. "I'd just love to see it."

"I'll look for it when we get home," I said with a laugh.

"So, what's your favorite middle school memory?" Dean asked. "And it better not be you punching that girl, because I need some stories here. Your life is too interesting too not have at least one moment in middle school that you'll remember forever. You know, besides you beating someone up."

"I did not beat her up!" I said. "But no, that's not my favorite memory."

"Please share, then, dear."

"Ok, it was eighth grade English. It was some exercise where the teacher gave us a simple topic and we had to go up in front of the class and discuss our answer. The topic was Your favorite inanimate object and she gave us 30 seconds to write down an answer so we'd be prepared."

"So then, one by one, all the kids went up to explain their favorite objects. Most of them were cell phones, lap tops, iPods, and the rest were personal objects like blankets or hoodies that were sentimental to them. And then I went up there and talked about my favorite inanimate object…which was socks."

Roman laughed. Dean said, "You picked socks? Really?! Of all the things in the world…"

"But it was true!" I said. "And I talked about how much I loved socks and they were always my favorite presents to get for Christmas and I went on for a full five minutes while they all tried to hold in their laughs, while they smiled these evil smiles at me and whispered to their friends."

I shook my head. "And to think I politely and quietly sat through their stupid presentations about how awesome their spider man blankets or their heart shaped pillows were. It was pathetic. And really, how are they any better than socks? Socks are cool. They have all different kinds with funky designs and you can slide across the floor with them and they cover up people's gross toe fungus."

Dean laughed. "God, I wish I'd been there to see that."

"How was I not in your class?" Roman wondered. "I would have clapped so loud it would have shaken the walls."

"Well I'd say that was my favorite memory. Although, I'm sure that was also one of the many moments that just made people dislike me because, well, I'm just weird obviously."

"Well that sucks for them," Dean said. "Because I think socks are pretty great too. Your classmates so lack open mindedness."

"Right?" I said. "Oh well. As the great wonderfully beautiful Kurt Cobain once said: I would rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not."

Looking at my two smiling friends, I was glad that not everyone hated me. And I hoped that Kurt Cobain had at least a few friends like mine. I really hoped that someone out there cried their eyes out after his death, because at least it meant that at least one person loved him for who he was.

* * *

** Not 100% sure Kurt Coblain said that. But I have a picture with that quote on that says he did, so let's just go with that.**

**Ciara x**


	20. Chapter 19

**Okay, I haven't updated in ages, I know, and I'm sorry, but I just had to get my ideas together. I've deleted A Collection Of WWE One Shots, and I'm Really sorry if I didn't get yours done, but it was just stressing me out. **

**Anyway, here's chapter nineteen. Enjoy!**

* * *

I always wondered how a person's brain decided to store information. Why could someone remember the lyrics to all the songs on their iPod, but not a few math formulas? Why could people remember the worst thing that ever happened to them, but they couldn't remember the first breath they ever took—they couldn't remember the moment they knew they were alive?

I probably could have Googled it and found some complex scientific answer, but I was one of the few people in the world who did not run my life according to Google. Also, no one can really truly know the answer to that—no matter how many years of school one has had—and I'd rather not know if I can't have a definite answer.

I wish it was possible to pick what my brain remembered. And I wouldn't pick things like my first birthday or the first time I ate solid food. Those things aren't important.

I wanted to remember the first time I really smiled. I wanted to know what had happened to me as an infant that made me really actually smile for the very first time in my entire life. I wanted to remember what I was wearing the first time I saw my baby brother. I wanted to remember the first time I laid in the grass and stared up at the sky. What did it feel like? Was it cloudy or clear, night or day? Was I alone or with my family?

It would have been lovely to remember the first word I wrote down. To see my childish uneven handwriting on a lined sheet of paper, knowing that it was something I had produced all by myself.

I wished I knew the first song I'd ever loved. I wanted to remember the music, the melody, the instruments, the voice and everything else that made me love it.

The memories I had from my childhood weren't really memories. I remembered certain things from when I was little, but there was no way I'd be able to put them in chronological order. They were mostly a jumble, and most were like clips or outtakes from a movie that only lasted a few seconds. There was also a possibility that many of them may have been dreams that I couldn't distinguish from reality. I really didn't know. But I could never escape the feeling that I might view the world differently if I could remember those few things.

Instead, I was stuck with an endless string of lyrics running through my mind as I tried to memorize math formulas.

* * *

It was four o'clock in the morning. But it didn't feel like morning. It still felt like the previous day's night.

I'd left the house in the afternoon when the wedding planning came to order. Beth and I weren't speaking, and I knew the tension made Constance edgy and I didn't want her to have to deal with that.

I went to Roman's for a little bit to watch his sisters for him so he could quickly take a shower and run to the grocery store for macaroni and cheese. He said it was for Trinity and Salia, but no one was fooled; we all knew it was really for him.

After that, I went home, but I didn't go inside. Dean came out around ten and found me laying in the grass smoking a cigarette. We'd been talking ever since.

"Tell me about your mom," I said softly, staring up at the sky. There was a blanket of stars covered by soft pillows of clouds that were illuminated by the moon. An odd feeling came over me; like it was really lighter out at night than it was during the day. I knew it didn't make sense in the real world, but in my mind, it was perfect.

Dean took a drag of his cigarette. "She grew up in South Florida. Her mom was really strict and her dad was really quiet. She tried to ignore them as much as possible. She started out doing that by just locking herself in her room. Then she started to sketch on her headboard. Then she drew on her walls. And then one day, she went to the store and bought a bunch of paint and turned her room from a white hell into a beautiful haven of color. She took lots of pictures of it and it really was amazing. I wish I still had them."

"White hell…"

"Yeah," he said. "I don't like white. White is…it's nothing. I would rather be in an asylum filled with red and orange flames than be stuck in a white room for the rest of eternity. White is the real color of death, you know."

"Like a corpse," I murmured.

"Exactly," he whispered.

Neither of us said anything for a while. It was an empty silence—but not a sad empty. An empty that was just peacefully; quiet; there.

"I was surprised you didn't run away that day at the bakery," Dean said. "You know, the second time we met. Right after I fell out of the trash can. I thought you'd have heard the crash and run away."

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"Well, that's probably what I would have done," he said. I could hear the smile behind his voice. "And because…I don't know, I guess that's just what most people would do. But I guess you aren't like most people. You're kind of weird."

I giggled. "Strangely, you aren't the first person to tell me that."

"What?" he said. "No…"

"It's true!"

"Crazy!"

"Well, honestly, I was pretty scared. But I know I did the right thing…what can I say? Meeting you was captivating."

Dean turned his head toward me. "You know, my mom always used to tell me that it was nearly impossible to find someone who absolutely didn't care what anyone else thought about them. I think she would have been intrigued to meet you."

I turned my head to him. "You really think so?"

"I know so," Dean said. "Think what you will about druggies, but my mom was really smart—maybe not book-smart or decisions-smart, but she was life-smart. She knew about people. My dad was the same way. Only…he was a little more…confused, for lack of a better word."

"How so?" I asked.

He turned his head back up to the sky. "He was just always out of it. He always had this look on his face that said he didn't know what was going on. He was just never quite right. Kelly told me that it was probably because his brain was messed up from the drugs…he did acid before he met my mom. I did some research and you can get permanent brain damage from that by only doing it once. I mean, I'm sure that's true for all drugs, but it seems like that one can be pretty bad."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's alright," Dean said. "He wasn't a bad dad. He played catch with me once in a while. He took me and Kelly to the park all the time and he'd bring a news paper and read while we played. And for an hour or two, I felt like we had a normal family. Sometimes I'd imagine my mom was home making dinner getting ready for us to come home."

He took a deep breath. "I had this fantasy sometimes. That we'd go home and the house would be clean. There wouldn't be any needles or anything laying around. And we'd all sit together at the kitchen table—because we actually had a kitchen that wasn't also me and Kelly's make shift bedroom—and talk about our day. And what we had planned for the next day. Then after dinner we could watch TV or play a game or something. And then Kelly and I would get ready for bed in actual bedrooms with real beds and duvets instead of blankets that were so thin we could see through them. And then we'd all wake up and have another good day, and another after that…and it would just last forever."

"That's a lovely wish," I said. "It's too bad it was only a fantasy."

"I know. Every day I think about how much time I've wasted thinking about that. Really, what does wishing actually do? It just makes you more depressed," Dean said.

I rolled over and faced him. He turned his head to face me. "Sometimes wishing is all we have. Wishing and hoping is the only thing that keeps us sane. Because for those few moments or hours of wishing our fantasies are reality, they are real. Because even though we aren't actually living them, they're still alive in our minds."

"That's true…"

I didn't meet his eyes for a minute; I just stared at a blade of grass above his head. When I returned my gaze to his, I said, "You know when I was little, Wednesdays were the best nights of my life. It was weird because Wednesday is such an average day, right in the middle of the week. But Wednesday was special to my family. It was the only day when both my parents put off work for the evening so that we could all eat dinner together. It wasn't anything special; we usually just had pizza or my dad would grill and we'd all be at the table talking and eating at exactly 5:30." I smiled something of a sad reminiscent grin. "It was just the four of us. And it was only that night that we were all really together."

"And then, after dinner Greg and I would clean up while Constance and Paul danced and sang around the kitchen like a couple of children." I laughed softly. "We always pretended that we were so embarrassed by it, but really it was fun to watch. And then, later, Aj would come over and we'd work on our homework or talk to my parents or we'd hang out with Greg and just do whatever. We were all friends back then. We all liked each other and we were all relatively normal…you know, except for we were actually really weird and no one wanted to be our friends."

Dean smiled. "Which just happened to work out, because if it weren't for that you wouldn't have found each other."

"Mhmm," I said. "I miss her so much. I really want to go visit them sometime. Maybe when I graduate."

"Have you seen her much since you moved?" Dean asked.

"Only twice," I said. "Once I went there and once she came back here," I answered. "But we want to get together again before graduation. And then after high school, they actually both want to go to college around here which would be so great. Actually, the school Aj wants to go to is like 25 minutes away from here, which means that she could potentially live with me, which would make me so happy."

"That would be awesome!" Dean said, sounding genuinely excited for me. "I hope she gets in."

"Me too," I said, smiling at him. "I know she will though. She's a straight A student, she's won 2 writing contests, had a poem published in a magazine, she has a job, and she's probably going to get a soccer scholarship, not to mention she's the vice president of the student counsel and she works on the school newspaper."

"Wow," Dean said with a quiet laugh as he raised his eyebrows. "That's just…wow."

"Tell me about it!" I said. "Seriously, it makes me feel like I literally do nothing."

"Me too, and I don't even know her," Dean joked.

"You'd like her," I said.

"I'd love to meet her," he said.

"Well if you're planning on sticking around for a while, then you probably will," I told him.

He looked down and a strange look crossed his face for just a second. "I really hope I can someday. Has Phil and everyone met her?"

"Yeah, when she came to visit," I answered. Maybe I'd just imagined the strange look. Or was he trying to change the subject? "They all loved each other. Probably because they're all just like I am. Which is why we're friends."

"Well that's good," Dean said. "I'm really glad I got to meet you all. I haven't felt this at home in a long time."

I felt a knot in my throat; the same kind of lump I felt when I'd gone to the basement to try to talk to Greg. "I'm really glad too."

It was at that point that I realized that the stars were starting to disappear and the night sky was turning into dawn. I also became aware of how tired I was. I could feel it everywhere, from my eyes to my knees, which always felt oddly heavy when I was tired.

Dean seemed to become aware of this too. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "I think I might go inside now. I'm working the night shift tomorrow and if I go all day without sleep, I might literally die."

"Well we wouldn't want that," I said, my voice a little hoarse.

"It would be a little demoralizing," he said with a smile as he sat up. Getting to his feet, he looked at me and said, "Goodnight Seth. Sweet dreams at 5:26 in the morning. I hope you get a good-mornings sleep."

"Why thank you, Dean Ambrose," I said. "Goodnight in the morning to you as well, good sir."

A few minutes after he left, all the energy it took for me to even just hold my eyelids open was gone. I rolled over on my side and felt the cool grass caress my cheek as I let sleep slowly wash over me—right in the middle of my yard.

* * *

**So thats it!**

**Ciara x**


	21. Chapter 20

**Haven't updated in a while, but I just had to collect my thoughts. I'm thinking that I'll only do around five more chapters for this story, because we're coming close to the end. So anyway here it is!**

* * *

"Wake up!" Roman's voice cut into my groggy dream land. "Seth! Come on! It's three o'clock. Ugh, you're just as difficult as Phil…"

I rolled over and opened my eyes. Roman was standing over my bed. My bed. How did I get to my bed? Hadn't I fallen asleep outside last night? Did I walk inside before I fell asleep, but was just too tired to remember?"

"Wha…"

"Dean came back outside when you didn't come in after a while and brought you back in. Falling asleep outside? Honestly, Seth that's something I would do," Roman said. "Now get up! We're going to Garage tonight."

"What time did you say it was?"

"It's three in the afternoon," he said as I sat up. "John's over at Phil's trying to get him up. I imagine it's going much like this is going right now."

"Roman, I'm really tired, can you just—wait did you say we're going to Garage tonight?"

"Yes!" he said. He sounded extremely excited, which was odd since Roman was rarely excited. "So can you please get up and get ready? We haven't been there in forever!"

"Alright, alright," I groaned, although inside, I was pretty excited too.

Garage started out as four guys in a garage band. They never played in front of people; they just did their own thing. Then one day in the summer, they decided to play with the garage open so they wouldn't overheat since the garage wasn't air conditioned. Some of the neighborhood kids heard and went over to listen. Then, within a few weeks, everyone from the high school crowded in the driveway to hear the band, who by that time, was called the Arizonas (which made no sense since none of them were from Arizona and as far as I knew, none of them had ever been there).

By the end of the summer, the parents of the drummer, Justin, were tired of never getting any sleep because of the music and all the kids crowded in the yard, so they told Justin and the band to have practices elsewhere.

Eventually, they found an old parking lot that no cars ever parked in, which worked out perfectly. The first dozen people to arrive with cars parked in a big semi-circle around where the band was playing/where people danced around in front of them and turned on their headlights to light up the stage-area. A few other bands from the high school played at Garage too when the Arizonas were taking breaks. And although they were no longer playing in the musty garage, everyone called this event "Garage" simply because people like things to be simple.

Phil, Roman, John and I went all the time, but when we all go jobs, we had less free time to go. But now that it was summer, and we changed our hours from evening to the afternoon, it seemed as though we'd be attending Garage regularly again.

After I showered and straightened the life out of my hair, I put on a pair of grey skinny jeans and a Beatles t-shirt. Dean and Roman were waiting for me at the kitchen table when I came downstairs.

"Finally," Roman said. "I was just telling Dean about Garage."

"Sweet," I said, opening the fridge and taking out the orange juice. "Are you excited?"

"Yeah, it sounds cool," Dean answered with a grin.

I poured the orange juice into a glass. "You won't be disappointed."

"I should hope not," Dean said. "Because now my hopes are way up and if this is a letdown, I might have to go on a psycho murdering rampage. Remember, I know where you live."

I laughed. "I promise it will be the answer to all your hopes and dreams."

Roman stood up. "Alright, well I'm going to work now, and I'm off at like six. You guys better be ready by then." He narrowed his eyes at me. "And that means, you, missy."

I rolled my eyes. "Ok, master, I promise to be ready by then."

"Good. I shall see you at 7!"

After he left, I sat at the table with Dean. "It seriously is really cool. I know that we don't really do anything super interesting around here, but I promise, this will actually be worth it."

Dean smiled. "I'm not doubting you."

"Good," I said.

"So…when is Beth's wedding?" Dean asked.

"End of next month, I think," I said. "I'm not sure the exact date. Why?"

"Just wondering," he said, studying the pattern of the placemat in front of him.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

He shook his head, just looking down. "I just keep thinking about Kelly. I hope she's ok. And I really don't want her to worry about me."

"I'm sure she's fine," I said softly.

"I really hope so," Dean said. "She's 16 now. So I was thinking…it might be easier to find her now or something."

"Have you been looking?" I asked, feeling stupid. How could he not be looking for his sister?

"A little," he said with a shrug. "Your dad tried to help me but we really couldn't find anything."

"Oh," I said. "I'm really sorry."

"It's ok," he said. "I'll find her someday."

"I really hope so," I said. "And if you ever need anything, please just ask, ok?"

He smiled. "Ok. Thanks, Seth Rollins."

I smiled back. "No problem, Dean Ambrose."

* * *

Despite me taking forever to do my hair and Phil not getting out of bed until two hours after John woke him up, we ended up being one of the first cars to arrive at Garage, and we got a much coveted parking spot almost right across from the stage area.

The Arizonas were already there, tuning their guitars and fixing the microphones. That was something different about them; they didn't make an entrance when they started playing. They were just already there waiting for everyone else. Although I'm not quite sure they really cared that everyone else was there. If no one showed up, I think they would have just played like they always did because the band meant something more to themselves than it ever would to any of their fans. And that was what made Garage so great.

We all piled out of John's Ford Excursion. Phil spotted Adam and quickly excused himself so he could go talk to all his friends and hope that he would strike up a conversation with him—because talking to him himself would have just been way to easy. Roman saw a few of his friends that he hadn't seen since school ended a couple of days ago, so he ran over there to say a quick hello, which left John, Dean and I sitting on the hood of the Expedition.

"So, this is what people do for fun these days, huh?" Dean said. "And here I thought working at the bowling alley and overhearing wedding plans was the highlight of this town."

"Oh, it usually is," John said. "But today's the exception. Believe me, leaving this boring place is probably the best decision you could ever make."

"I don't know. I kind of like it here. It's nice," Dean said.

"You haven't been here during the winter," I groaned. "The snow makes you wish hibernation was an option, but then you just keep waking up every morning and realizing you have to go to school again. It's torturous."

"Well do you have plans to leave here?" Dean asked. "Like college or something."

John and I exchanged a quick glance. I was pretty sure that we'd only ever had one conversation about college at the beginning of the school year and this was how it went:

Phil: I can't believe we're nearly done high school already.

Me: Really? I feel like we've been here forever. And we still have a whole year left.

Roman: Maybe if you actually made an attempt to like people, it wouldn't seem so excruciating.

Me: Probably. Oh well. Guess we'll never know.

John: A year isn't really a long time, especially when you consider the fact that you'll probably live to be at least 80.

Phil: Exactly! We're almost done with school forever!

John: Yeah, it's kind of weird to think about, you know?

Roman: If you're upset about that you could always apply to college.

Me: Ew.

John: No thanks.

Phil: Ha!

Roman: Hey, it's three o'clock! Isn't Spongebob on?"

So when it came to our academic futures, the four of us didn't exactly have big plans.

"Uh, we've thought about it a little…" I said.

"We had a brief discussion about it," John said.

"And you decided against it?" Dean asked. You didn't have to be a genius to know that the four of us weren't exactly cut out for that kind of stuff.

"I don't know," I said. "I mean, yeah it's a nice idea and all…but first you have to find a college, apply—and pay to apply—and then once you're accepted you have to keep your grades up and everything which is sometimes hard to do...and then you have to pay a ridiculous amount of money to go there, take a bunch of classes you don't want to take, and keep your grades up again. I'll probably go in the end, but right now it just doesn't seem worth it to me."

"But it's still nice to have the option," Dean said, staring straight forward.

I looked down and then at John, who shrugged at me with a tight smile that wasn't a smile at all.

"Where do you want to go to college?" I asked Dean.

"I don't know," he answered. "My sister always talked about how awesome it would be if she was able to go to NYU. You know…in New York. She always wanted to go there."

"That would be pretty cool," John agreed.

"Yeah. But there's no way for either of us to afford it," he said. "but I think that if circumstances were different, we'd both be going there…or she'd already be there."

"Well, don't give up," I said. "There's always financial aid and you could get a job out there to help pay for it…"

He smirked. "Seth, I haven't gone to school since I was like seven. Yeah, I may have read a few textbooks in the meantime, but after…after everything…after I left, I didn't do anything. I mean, I wandered around with the few things I took from the house and then I came here and you found me. I just…I don't think you can see that it's been a year since I've been home—had a home. That's a long time to go without school. There's just no way I could get into any school at all, let alone NYU."

"Don't say that!" I said. "You could start at community college and work your way up. You're really smart Dean. Stop doubting yourself. I know it's expensive but there are always options. And you can't just give up. I know you can do whatever you want if you stop being so negative."

He smiled. "Thanks."

"It's only the truth."

Soon after that, the band started to play and the music polluted the night air, so loud it rocked the stars. I sat on the hood of John's car in between him and Dean. John seemed to be having the time of his life watching the Arizonas jump around while the crowd danced in front of us, which included Roman, who was in the crowd dancing with some cute red-headed girl I recognized from my English class.

Dean nudged me in the shoulder and pointed towards Phil a few feet away. He was standing by Adam grinning like an idiot (an insanely cute idiot, but an idiot nonetheless) as he beamed at him. I smiled and shook my head.

"He's planning their wedding in his mind," I yelled over the music into Dean's ear.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you're the best man," he yelled back.

I smiled and turned back around to face the stage. Dean laced his fingers through mine and I leaned my head against his shoulder. I closed my eyes and listened to the music and felt the bass pulse through my chest like a second, uneven heartbeat.

Perfection is how I would describe this moment. Because even if it was just a moment, there was nothing on my mind but what was happening here and now. And here and now, everything was perfect. I knew it wouldn't last forever. It wouldn't even last for a long time. But it was now, and I lived for now and moments similar to now.

Phil was smiling his beautiful melt-your-heart-into-falling-in-love smile.

Roman was laughing and dancing like his life depended on it.

John was watching the scene in front of him like he never wanted it to end.

And Dean…well Dean was just being Dean. He just sat contently as he held my hand like he never wanted to let go. I'd love to think that he never wanted to let me go. Like he just wanted to be here in Perfection with me forever, even though Perfection wasn't actually a place, but rather our own state of being.

That's how Dean was, though. He'd let me wander off sometimes into my own little world…sometimes into other worlds. But whenever I started to slip away, he always caught me at the exact right time and he'd pull me back to here—where I needed to be.

Because no matter how far I got, he'd never let me be taken away. And as I sat there, holding his hand listening to the Arizonas sing their rock and roll lullabies, I knew that he'd always be there to hold my hand to keep me here with him.

And I never wanted him to let go.

* * *

**The end of this is kinda based on perks of being a wallflower, you know with the whole 'and in that moment I swear we were infinite' and I was half tempted to write that but I decided against it in the end.**

**Let me know what you think!**

**Ciara x**


	22. Chapter 21

**Haven't updated in ages, I'm so sorry, but I had a lot of stuff going that I don't want to talk about. But I'm back, and I've sorted out my ideas for this story. There's only gonna be four or five more chapters after this one, and then the story is over. **

**Also, I found a guy at my swimming gala called Michael J Ambrose! I didn't get to talk to him, but my brother did and he said he didn't know who Dean was. **

**I got a tumblr as well recently, so follow me xambrollinsx.**

* * *

The more Dean talked about his sister, the more lost he seemed to be without her. He told so many stories about their childhood, each one as emotional and sentimental to him as the last.

And that was when I realised that Dean wasn't living; he was searching. And he would always be searching. He might have even searched his life away, looking for her. No matter how many times he said, "I know she's gone now," he never quite convinced himself completely. There was always that little bit of doubt—so little that maybe he didn't even notice it. But it was there. He was lost, and would always be lost until he found his beloved sister. He was always hoping that she would still be there, waiting for him somewhere, someday.

He reminded me of my grandparents' friends—Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson. They weren't siblings, but they'd been together for almost all their lives. They got married in 1941 when Mrs. Ferguson was 18 and Mr. Ferguson was 21.

My family came to be really close with the Fergusons. They used to babysit for Paul when he was just a little kid, and he returned the favor by babysitting for their grandchildren as they grew older.

Mr. Ferguson used to always talk about how much he loved Mrs. Ferguson.

"Helen wasn't just a girl," he'd said. "She was some sort of earth bound angel who was sent here by some beautiful mistake, and was tied here for eternity when she saved my soul."

No one knew happiness like Mr. Ferguson. Content he was with little simplicities, he never once complained of anything when it came to his lovely wife.

Then, as it often does in moments of perfection, tragedy struck. Mr. Ferguson was diagnosed with dementia when he was 86, eight years ago. Mrs. Ferguson, his life, his world, his everything, took care of him every day. He became her priority, her job. She hired a nurse for him for when she worked, but the rest of the time, she took care of him.

One day, when she was about to leave for work, Mrs. Ferguson tripped and fell down the stairs. She broke her leg in three places. Paul told the story to my mom when it happened. According to him, Mrs. Ferguson was laying on the ground trying to get her husband to call 911.

But poor Mr. Ferguson was so confused and scared, he was unable to locate the phone. He opened all the cabinets, the fridge, the pantry, the microwave, panicking all the while. Eventually, Mr. Ferguson's nurse showed up and was able to call for an ambulance.

While Mrs. Ferguson was in the hospital, Mr. Ferguson's younger brother went to his house to get him. But Mr. Ferguson refused to leave without Mrs. Ferguson, who he thought was still in the house.

The next part of the story is the part that really breaks my heart. After his brother finally coaxed him into going over to his house, his sister-in-law, Mary, asked Mr. Ferguson what he did all day now that he was retired. And his answer was, "I follow Helen around."

Dean and his sister were like the Fergusons. Always together. Protecting each other. Facing the world together, hand in hand through everything. And despite the separation, Dean would always be looking for her. Every time we went to the mall, a restaurant, work, he always kept his eye on the door, waiting for her to enter.

* * *

"I heard Maryse and Michelle got into a huge fight over Mark Callaway," Phil said.

"Seriously?" I said, scrubbing the food counter at Triple Strike. "Ew."

"I guess Mark's cute and all with his kind of scary personality to girls like that, but still. Fighting over him? Imagine what they'd do if he was as hot as John."

"Michelle would be in prison for assault or rape by now probably," I said.

"Can't say I'd be too upset about that…then we'd just have to take care of Maryse and BAM! We become the happiest people ever and I get Adam, you and Dean go out, we double date and our lives are perfect. End scene."

"Roll credits."

"Play happy-go-lucky I'm on top of the world song."

"Amen."

Dean came up behind us then. "So we're pretty much getting paid to stand around and talk?"

All three of us surveyed the almost completely vacant bowling alley. I answered, "Yup, pretty much."

"This is why we shouldn't be open for twenty four hours, seven days a week," Phil agreed. "Who goes bowling at nine in the morning?"

"No one apparently," Dean said.

"Well if I can't be sleeping, I'd rather be here than home," I said. "I always think there is no way I could care less about this stupid wedding. But then I hear more about it and guess what? It actually can get worse."

"At least it's almost over with," Phil pointed out. "Then we can go back to complaining about everything else."

"So true," I said. "Thank God."

"Plus Beth will be out of your house," Dean added. "So you won't have to keep awkwardly avoiding her. Although, to be honest, I don't know why you even need to do that. She's afraid of you anyway."

"I guess," I said. "But between her sucking all the oxygen out of the house and Greg trying to squeeze his ego through the front door, I think it would just be better for all of us if she left."

"The only downside is we'll have nothing to distract our mothers," Phil groaned. "Once the wedding goes by, it's back to merlot at ten in the morning and going grocery shopping at 2 a.m."

"What's wrong with grocery shopping at 2 a.m.?" Dean asked.

"Only weird people go that late," Phil told him. "Like going at midnight is whatever, but once you get to that one o'clock mark, there's just no saving you."

"Haven't you ever heard of Wal-Martians?" I asked.

"Is that a band?" he asked.

Phil and I laughed. He did too, but deep beneath that smile, there was some sort of misery trapped inside of him. I didn't know what it was, but that didn't stop it from haunting me later that night when I closed my eyes and drifted into a shallow sleep.

* * *

All at once, July arrived. With all the wedding plans going on, I'd forgotten the summer holiday even existed.

Phil always got really into summer. And by that, I mean he wore scantily clad light-coloured outfits.

My parents always threw an end of the school-year party in the middle of summer. They considered cancelling this year, but in the end they decided everyone needed a break from the wedding. And what better distraction than the oh-so-safe combination of beer and fireworks?

Constance gave me a grocery list and some money. She told me to go to the store to pick up a few things while she cleaned the house. Or at least, she said she was cleaning the house. In reality, she was probably doing something weird like watching TV while doing cartwheels around the living room.

I stopped by Phil's on the way to the store. He came out right as I pulled up, wearing tight light blue shorts with white stripes on them, a taut pink striped t-shirt, and orange sandals. As he got into the car, I stifled a laugh.

"You know that outfit does not correspond, right?" I asked.

"Maybe I know, but I don't care," he answered. "So what do you think of it?"

"Me? Well I think it looks pretty dope," I said. "Although this is more along the lines of breaking the school dress code than breaking the law. So I applaud you! Kudos, darling."

Phil rolled his eyes as I pulled out of his driveway and headed towards the store. "This outfit is not against school dress code!"

I laughed. "Well it looks like it's enough to suffocate you. Your shirt and pants look extremely tight."

"It is tight," he mumbled.

I laughed again and continued driving with the music turned up loudly.

A while later, we arrived at the grocery store. The parking lott was packed as people ran to the store for last minute party decorations and, of course, as much food as their credit cards could handle. It wasn't just my family who threw these parties, it was mostly every parent from school, and they were all usually around this time—the beginning of July.

I grabbed a cart and we started trying to decipher Constance's handwriting, which might as well have been hieroglyphics.

"I say we just guess," I suggested. "I mean, it's just a party. What are the basics? Chips and assorted desserts?"

"I'd say so," Phil agreed, before winking at a produce guy standing nearby.

I rolled my eyes and pulled his arm. "Let's go, Prince Charming. We have a limited amount of time before Constance goes crazy without her…" I look at the list. "…whatever it is that she wants."

After about a half hour of decoding Constance's chicken scratch and telling Phil to quit making googley eyes at everyone, we had everything we needed. After checking out and driving home, Phil and I entered my house only to find ourselves in the vicinity of something my grandma would have called a "lover's quarrel."

To me, a "quarrel" is a calm discussion about a disagreement. What I saw before me was a full on yelling match that was dangerously close to a volume that the neighbors could hear.

"Well if you don't think my friends are good enough then maybe we just shouldn't get married at all!" Beth was screaming.

"That's not what I meant at all!" her fiancé, Johnny, insisted. "I just meant that you're planning this whole wedding with them and not including me at all. This is our day, Beth, and you've hardly talked to me at all since the planning began."

"Uh, my friends are helping," she said, referring to Natalya, Mickie and Trish who were standing off to the side of the kitchen, their eyes darting back and forth at each other. "They're girls, they know about weddings."

"I understand," Johnny said, exasperation saturating his voice. "I just think that you and I should be making time for each other right now too."

Beth sneered. "We're getting married. We'll have our whole freaking lives to be together."

"I know," Johnny said through clenched teeth, his hands curling into fists. I wondered how much longer it would be until he threw a punch. "But when was the last time we went and saw a movie? Or took a trip somewhere? Or, hell, even walked around at the mall? When was the last time we hung out. I just don't know, Beth. Maybe your aunt is right. Maybe we're too young for this."

"Wha…what are you saying?" Beth screeched. "Aunt Constance? Is that who you're talking about? What does she have to do with anything?! We are not too young. People get married younger than us all the time."

"And look at the divorce rate!" he fired back. "My parents got married when they were thirty five, and they were sure that they wanted to be together forever. You're 20. I'm 22. If they had to wait that long…then how can we know?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!" Beth was full out shrieking now.

"Beth…" Natalya said softly. "Calm down…"

Beth either didn't hear her, or chose to ignore her. Tears of anger slid down her red cheeks. "How can you say that? How can you do this to me?"

Jonny looked down. "You know I love you, Beth. But…I can't help but remember how much fun we had while we were dating. I don't feel that way when you're planning this wedding, getting mad about every little thing, being mean to everyone…this shouldn't be a chore. This should be a happy time." He shook his head. "I think we both just need some time."

"No!" Beth yelled. "Please don't do this. Please."

"Keep the ring for now," he said softly, still not meeting her eyes. "I'll call you later."

"Jonny!" she cried.

But he was already walking past me, past Phil, past the front entry way and right out the door.

Beth dropped to her knees and clutched her stomach, sobbing into the hardwood kitchen floor. Natalya, Mickie and Trish were by her side in a flash, patting her back, pulling her off the floor, telling her everything would be ok.

Trish looked up at me. "Get her some water."

And then something strange happened.

I did.

* * *

** So there it was! Review favourite & follow**

**Ciara x**


	23. Chapter 22

"I've never been to a 'summer' party before," Dean said.

"Really?" I said. "Well then you're in for a treat. If you consider watching slightly intoxicated adults lighting off explosives a treat, that is."

He smiled. "Well it's entertaining and that's all that really matters, right?"

"But of course."

He laid down on my bed while I sat at my desk doodling on a blank sheet of paper. I glanced at his reflection in the huge mirror on my desk. He smiled up at my ceiling. "Kelly and I used to watch the fireworks shows people would set off over the ocean. We'd go down to this old pier and lay down on it for hours and just watch the colours."

"Sounds awesome," I said.

"It was," he chuckled softly to himself. I could see his eyes glaze over as he watched a far away memory. "I used to be so scared of the noise when I was really little. Kelly told me the fireworks had heartbeats. Without heartbeats, they wouldn't exist—we wouldn't exist. And she said that as long as I could hear a heartbeat, I shouldn't be scared. Because it meant that the world was alive."

I turned and faced him. He pulled himself from his own mind and looked at me. I smiled at him, trying to keep my eyes from letting loose the tears that were weighing down my eyelids. "That's really sweet. And it's so true."

He smiled back, a genuine smile. "It is. And because of her, I have nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm happy for that," I whispered.

"Me too," he paused. "You know, I heard about what happened with Beth earlier. And look…I know you don't really like her—and that's totally understandable—but just remember that despite everything, she's a person and she has feelings too. Even though she's been mean lately, she still doesn't deserve what happened to her. So maybe you could both take a break from your mutual hatred of each other for now. Because I think that you could really help her. After all," he said. "she's your family."

"Yeah," I said, turning back towards the mirror. "I know."

Later, we went downstairs to the party. A bunch of my parents friends were there. Or, my dad's friends, I should say. Constance and Alice were in a corner of the kitchen talking in hushed tones, refilling their wine glasses. Antisocial as they were being, I couldn't help but smile. I hoped someday Phil and I would be like that—best friend's no matter what, not really caring about anything else (like a summer party) going on around them.

"Hey!" John said, walking up behind me. "Did you see that?"

I followed his gaze over to where Phil was standing in the family room talking to someone. Upon closer examination, I realized it was Adam, the very object of his affection. I laughed. "Good for him. Did he invite him?"

"Who else would have?" he asked.

"Touché," I said.

As I turned back to John, I saw Beth slip outside onto the deck. To John, I said, "I'll be right back.

I turned around, leaving John to go join Roman and Dean playing videogames. I quickly got a cigarette from one of my burnout neighbors who showed up with his parents before sliding out the door onto the deck. My parents had a bonfire started, which burned brightly even despite the fact that it wasn't quite dark out yet. The sky was just beginning to transition from purple to the deep blue of night.

Lighting the cigarette, I passed small groups of adults making casual conversation until I reached the end of the large deck to where Beth was sitting, staring out into the yard at the fire.

"Hey," I said, sitting down next to her, though keeping my distance.

She barely glanced at me. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," I said. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

She rolled her eyes and looked at me. "Yeah right. Why don't you just say whatever mean joke you have and then go find your trashy friends and go…do whatever it is you do."

"I'm not going to make a mean joke. God, why does everyone think I hate you?"

"Uh, maybe because you do?" she shot back. "You've always been mean to me, even when we were kids."

"We still are kids!" I said.

"I'm not!" she cried, causing a few nearby people to glance in our direction. Tears sprang to her eyes. "Don't you get it? I'm 20. I'm not a child. I'm an adult. Why doesn't anyone accept that?"

I saw Beth as an actual person at that moment; not just some over dramatic girl trying to ruin my life. Because Dean was right. No matter how bratty she could get, she still had feelings. And she was still my family.

But she was wrong about something. She was still a kid. She was an insecure child who was still in the process of growing up. It had nothing to do with age; it was just getting older. Learning.

"You know, Beth," I said quietly. "Everything might seem like the end of the world now. But it'll get better. You're young. And you're so pretty. And you're smart. And I know you love Johnny. So I think you should talk to him. Because no matter what anyone says, you're a good person. And you deserve to be happy."

She wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. "You mean it?"

"I do," I said. "Johnny is a good guy. And I think that you just got so set on having the perfect wedding that he thought you loved the wedding more than him. He just didn't realize that you want a perfect wedding because you want it to be perfect for him. So you should tell him."

"You think so?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered. "Don't let him call off this wedding, especially if you think he's the one. You guys don't have to be just another couple that breaks up. You could last forever. And besides, all this wedding torture cannot have been for nothing. I have been through way too much for it to not even happen. If anything else, I'll go punch some sense into him."

Beth laughed. "Alright, I'll talk to him. Thanks Seth. Oh, and between you and me…you were more help than Nattie, Mickie and Trish. They told me to just dump him."

"Your friends are stupid," I said. "They don't understand. I mean, you're not in high school anymore, right? Wedding problems are a way more complex than breaking up with someone when you're fifteen."

Beth stood up. "I'm going to go call him now. You're right. Plus, your mom and my mom have put in too much work for it to all be for nothing." She turned to leave, then paused for a minute and looked back at me. Gesturing to the cigarette in my hand she said, "Those are going to kill you, ya know."

I took a drag. "Gotta die somehow."

"True, but I doubt your friend Dean would be too pleased to have you go too soon. He's cute, don't you think?" With a final smile and wave she disappeared into the house.

"This is what I get for being nice…" I mumbled to myself.

* * *

It was eleven o'clock when Paul and his friends started lighting off fireworks. I laid in the grass between Dean and Phil. Phil was talking to Adam who was laying suspiciously close next to him. Roman was on the other side of Dean, his two little sisters curled up against him.

John was sitting next to us as well. He seemed more interested in looking at the stars than watching Paul fumble with the dangerous explosives.

In the midst of my wondering, Dean laced his fingers through mine. I moved a little closer to him. I could smell his sweet scent and feel the heat from his skin. I turned my head towards him and watched him look at the sky. He turned to me and smiled. "What?"

"Nothing," I smiled back.

He leaned over and kissed my forehead softly. "I heard Beth telling Constance what you said to her. That was really sweet of you."

"Ugh," I said, turning away from him. "Let's just not talk about it, ok?"

"Not talk about what?" he said, playfully. "Oh! About how you were super nice to Beth earlier? And how you single handedly saved her wedding? Is that what you mean?"

I faced him again and socked him in the shoulder. "Hush. And besides, it wasn't even my idea." I said, a small smile playing at my lips, remembering that Dean was the one that gave me the idea in the first place. I pressed my lips softly against his while he pulled me on top of him. I opened my eyes to be met with his mesmerizing, wonderfully gray-blue eyes. "So really it wasn't even me."

"It wasn't you who said nice things to your cousin Beth in her hour of need?"

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Ever heard of a muzzle?"

He just smiled and wrapped his arms around my waist. I laid my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. Soon after, it was drowned out by the sound of the fireworks clapping across the sky. Kids ran around and screamed with joy. Constance and her friends sipped their merlot. Paul lit the wicks of the fireworks with the tip of a cigar. Beth and her friends clapped and giggled at the colors. Some people chatted. Others remained silent.

And then there was us. Although we didn't really talk during the fireworks, the silence wasn't an empty one. Phil's silence was happiness to be in such a close vicinity to Adam. Roman's silence was a quiet laugh as his sisters jumped up and down every time the beautiful bombs went off. John's silence was getting lost in his wonderfully crazy thoughts.

Dean's silence was his hand on mine. My silence was being surrounded by my friends and loving every second of it, and laying in such close proximity to Dean's warmth.

"Dean?" I whispered almost inaudibly.

"Hmm?" he responded with, just as quietly.

"I love you," I mumbled against his warm chest.

"I love you, too."


	24. Chapter 23

**Guys, this is the second last chapter and I just want to thanks you all for reviewing, favouriting and followimg! This is the first story I've ever finished, and I just want you to know how much it means that you read it! Thanks, I love you all.**

* * *

"If you could find out how you're going to die, would you want to know?" Dean asked.

"Definitely," I said, at the same time Roman said, "Hell no!"

We were sitting in my room the next day, avoiding going downstairs for fear of facing Beth. Although we were on good terms, she was still a mess trying to get up the nerve to call Johnny. And no matter what had happened the previous night, Beth would always be Beth.

Roman whipped his head towards me. "How could you want to know that? What if it was getting hit by a bus? Then you'd never be able to drive again!"

"Not necessarily," I countered. "Being hit by a bus is being hit by one bus, not every bus you see."

"It would be scary! Every time you saw a bus your life would flash before your eyes."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you know how many common day to day things could kill you? You could trip and fall down the stairs and break your neck, your microwave could short circuit and your house would burn down, you could have a gas leak and—"

"Stop!" Roman said.

I laughed. "You are such a baby." I turned to Dean. "Would you want to know?"

"It depends," he answered. "If it was really cool, then yeah. Because if lightning strikes me at the same time I get run over by a bulldozer, then I'd want to know. You can't think of how cool that would be if you're dead. But if it was like cancer…then probably not."

"Cancer's never cool," Roman agreed. He'd lost his uncle to cancer when he was eight.

"Ok, would you want to know if you'd die alone?" I asked.

Roman thought for a second. "No." Dean laughed. Roman smiled. "What? I don't like thinking of dying!"

"You wouldn't want to know anything about your death?" Dean asked.

"If I know, can I stop it?" he asked.

"No."

"Then no!"

"But it would be cool!" I insisted. "You could make bets with people on how you going to die. There's no way to lose. Well, except for the fact that you're dead and the money or whatever from the bet would mean nothing to your rotting corpse. But whatever."

"Details, details," Dean said.

"Exactly."

"I think I'll just live forever," Roman said.

"Good plan," I said.

"Genius," Dean agreed. Then he laughed. "My dad always used to say that. He was so convinced that he'd never die. He gave me a big speech about it and then he went into the bathroom to shoot up."

"Your dad sounds like a rock star," Roman said.

"Oh, you have no idea," Dean grinned. "God, he's so weird. I mean, he was always high, but I think even if he wasn't, he wouldn't be that much different."

"Really?" I said.

He nodded. "My mom always told me he was born confused. That's the best word anyone who met him would use to describe him. And it was so fitting. He'd always wake up and not know what time it was or the date or where he was. He lost everything. Keys, wallet, needles, shoes…he was just a disaster of a person. But he believed that the way he lived would make him live forever."

"How so?" Roman asked cautiously.

"He didn't care about anything," Dean explained. He absentmindedly grabbed a rubber band from my nightstand and started fiddling with it. "Probably because he didn't comprehend anything. I remember one time, my sister brought a calendar home and put it up by the fridge. Then one day, she forgot to change it to the next month. A week later, my dad was complaining about why people were talking about winter starting soon when it was only October. He just didn't understand. He couldn't piece it together, you know? But he accepted it like it was a norm. My mom thought it was hilarious." He shook his head. "I did too. So did Kelly."

"That sounds like Constance," I said.

"It so does!" Roman laughed.

Dean grinned even bigger. "She reminds me of him that way. Only with less drugs. I know you think she's crazy, Seth, and maybe she is, but she's a good mom."

"I know," I said. "I know."

He shook his head. "My dad was a good guy. He did what he could for us. But he was always…cold."

"What do you mean?" Roman asked.

"He just didn't really get close to anyone. Just my mom. He never asked me 'how was your day?' or 'how was school?' I mean, he still talked to me sometimes, but never about real stuff. Never about life. Just whatever popped into his head in the moment. And it's not like I can blame him. I mean, he was pretty messed up…"

"Dean," I said softly. "I know it might be hard to hear, but you can blame him. In fact, maybe you should."

"He's my dad."

"I know," I said. "But everyone gets mad at their parents sometimes. It's normal. Disagreements happen. But the way you try to protect him and rationalize everything…" I said. "Why do you do that? What has he done for you?"

"Seth…" Roman said quietly, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Because I have to," Dean insisted. "He's my dad. Everyone thought he was just another drug addict, just another meaningless person. But he wasn't. He may not have cared about my grades, but he played catch with me. He didn't know what day it was, but he bought food for my family."

"I think you're trying to rationalize it because you don't want to admit that…"

"Admit what?"

"Admit that he was a bad person."

"He wasn't!" Dean yelled, startling both Roman and me, and possibly himself. "He tried so hard. Every day."

"I know," I whispered. "But sometimes working hard just isn't enough. Look where you are, Dean. You're not with him. Why is that? Because you know. You know that after they took your parents away, and your sister, they might not be able to come back for you."

Dean blinked back tears. "It's not their fault if they weren't able to. They would if they could."

"Then why did you come here Dean?" I asked, my own voice rising. Why was I doing this? I knew the answer. I had a question bubbling up inside me. A question that I'd had since one of the first conversations I'd had with Dean about his family.

"Seth," Roman said, looking a little uncomfortable.

I ignored him. "That night when they took your family away, when your mom made you hide behind the fridge. Why did you listen to her? She told you she loved you and she wanted you to be safe. Why didn't you try to find her? You just left. Why didn't you just try to find her?"

"I did!" he said loudly. "I grabbed what I needed and started to run. And when I got into town, I looked everywhere for the police cars. I asked people if they'd seen them. I looked for Kelly everywhere. But they weren't there." He paused for a second. "But that's when I realized I was disobeying my mom. She told me to be safe. Standing out in the open there wasn't safe. I didn't want to defy her, especially knowing…I'd never see her again."

And there it was. He wasn't protecting her because he thought she was a good person. He was protecting her because she was the woman who gave birth to him, fed and clothed him (or tried to), and let him call her mom. It wasn't because she was a good person on the inside. It was simply because they were related. I had my answer.

He shook his head. "I couldn't let the last thing she ever said to me be a waste. I'm not going to look back and remember the one time I didn't listen to my mom—the last time."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"You know, when Kelly and I were little and we got really mad, we'd sometimes talk about how we wished we had different parents. Or how we wished our parents were dead. But those were the times when it seemed most like my parents weren't getting any older. They were just frozen—frozen with needles stuck in their veins and pills in their mouths. It seemed like we'd just be stuck forever."

"So you wanted to listen to your mom one last time to make up for the bad things you thought about her?" Roman asked.

"I guess," Dean answered. "They just made me so angry. I'd look at my sister and see such a smart girl with good grades and the highest GPA in her class and for what? So she could continue to live in a house with drugs and go nowhere with her life? Because that's where we were going: destination nowhere. We were trapped."

"You aren't trapped anymore, Dean," I said. "Your parents aren't here. You don't have to defend them. Not all the time, at least."

"I know," he said. "I just don't want to die thinking…the last thing I ever did with regards to my mom was disobey her."

"I guess that makes sense," Roman said. "But that still doesn't make what they did ok."

"I know," Dean said. "I know that maybe they were bad people. But if I don't want to say it because then it becomes real. And if I do ever decide to admit it, I want it to be to them. Because really, they're the ones who need to hear it. And I hope…I hope I get the chance to do it someday."

I smiled at Dean. "I hope you do too."

Dean cracked a small smile, still fiddling with the rubber band. "I think my family really would have liked you."

"Yeah?"

"You aren't afraid to say what you think. They really admire that in people, even if they don't agree with it."

"You take after them then," I said. "You accept everyone and everything. I love your open-mindedness."

"Thanks," he said. Then he sighed. "And someday, I'll tell them what I really think of them. Even though they're my parents and I love them, they hardly even seemed like real people sometimes, you know? Like I said, my dad just seemed cold, frozen. He wasn't living in the past, but he wasn't moving forward…it was like he never even aged at all. And my mom…well, she was pretty much the same. No matter what, she was always distant. Like part of her was dead. And in a way, I think part of her actually was."

"Dean," I said, "I hope you know you aren't like that. Never could be."

Suddenly the door swung open. Roman jumped and Dean and I laughed.

"The weddings back on!" Beth squealed with joy. "We worked everything out! Oh, thank you so much Seth!"

Before I knew what was happening (or rather, before I had time to run) Beth was suddenly standing right next to me, squeezing the life out of me. "You're the best! The absolute best! I don't know why I used to not like you! I take back all the horrible things I've ever said about you, ever!"

"Great," I grumbled, my face smashed up against her shoulder.

"Oh! And another thing," Beth said, letting go of me and taking a step back. "We're going shopping for bridesmaids dresses tomorrow at the mall. I need you to come and give opinions!"

"You're going to get bridesmaid's dresses from the mall?" Roman asked. "I thought there were like fancy stores for that stuff."

"There are, but I'm trying to cut back on the budget," Beth explained. "Then yesterday, Nattie, Mickie, Trish and I were all talking about how much fun prom and homecoming was when we were in high school and so we decided to get those kinds of dresses instead of the super expensive ones. Genius, right?" She turned back to me. "We're leaving tomorrow at eight, be ready!"

Then with that, she flew back out of the room and was gone.

"What have I done?" I said to no one in particular. "What was I thinking, being nice to her like that? I could have just left her alone and she'd still be sulking and it would be quiet and I wouldn't have to get up at eight tomorrow and…what did I do?"

"Well, you're actually going to the mall at eight tomorrow, so really you'll probably have to get up earlier to—" Roman started.

"Not helping!" I interrupted.

Although I continued to complain, I couldn't help but feel a little happy for Beth. Despite us not getting along for the majority of our childhood up until literally yesterday, she was a good person. Maybe not a good person who goes out of her way to help people and make the world a better place, but a good person nonetheless. I hoped Dean realised that, and I hoped that spending time with us made him realize the difference—the real difference—between good and bad. He didn't deserve the parents he was given, but he made the best of it anyway. Dean was stronger than any person I'd ever met. He was a genuinely good person. And he didn't even know.

* * *

"I'm serious! I know he was on that one ad! You know, the one for that fast food restaurant…"

"Do you know how many fast food restaurants there are, let alone how many ads there are for them?" Phil answered. "I could turn on the TV right now and see at least six while flipping through the channels. Be more specific."

"He's like…nineteen or twenty it looks like," I told her. "And he has dark brown hair with a goatee."

At first I thought getting up at eight o'clock to go to the mall was the worst idea ever. But once I'd gotten there and realized there were some major people watching potential, I got less bitter. When Beth and her friends got distracted by underwear sales at Victoria's Secret, I used the opportunity to slip away and walk around without them smothering me to try on more frilly dresses. Upon my wandering, I found a guy who I swore I'd seen on TV before, so, of course, I instinctively called Phil.

"You've successfully described almost all the guys who work at Triple Strike," he said. "What color are his eyes?"

"Yeah right! As if I'm going to get that close. But it was definitely a Burger King ad," I said. The guy glanced in my direction and I pretended to be sifting through a pile of sweaters in front of me.

"What store are you in?" Phil asked.

"Old Navy," I answered. "Why don't we ever come here? It's practically made for cheap clothes wearers like us."

"Noted," he said. "Ok, back to commercial guy…"

"He has definite dimples," I said. "The one on the left is deeper than the one on the right."

"Hmm, ok," he said. "So how long until Beth and company finds you?"

"I'm not sure," I answered. "None of them have texted me, so either they forgot I was even here or they're still sorting through the underwear bins at Victoria's Secret. Also, they should consider changing their name. There's definitely no room for secrets with that lingerie."

"I think the secret is that once you buy their stuff, you realize you can get the exact same thing at Walmart for fifty bucks cheaper," Phil said. "Too bad Walmart doesn't have half naked posters of women. They'd put Victoria's Secret out of business in two seconds."

"Poor Vicky," I said. "Skank wouldn't stand a chance."

"So true. So what's alleged advertisement guy doing?"

"It's not alleged!" I hissed. "I swear! He was in an Burger King ad. I know he was. He's texting at the moment. Probably his agent. Watch, we'll see him in the next Batman movie now."

"Are you sure it was Burger King?" he asked.

"Positive," I said. "Oh, he's leaving now."

"Follow him!" Phil commanded. "Oh! I almost forgot! Adam texted me this morning! Guess what he said?"

"He's head over heels in love with you?" I guessed.

"I wish," he groaned. "But he did say that he had fun hanging out with me at the party last night!"

"Really!" I squealed. "That's so awesome! I told you he'd like you if you'd just talk to him."

"I know, I know, you're always right, I should always listen to you," he said. "I swear I'll never doubt you again."

"Damn right you won't," I followed Burger King guy into Sears. "So what did you say back?"

"I told him that I had fun with him too. Then he was like 'are you going to Michelle McCool's party this weekend' and I was like 'hell no! Are you?' and he was like 'I was thinking about it, but probably not. If I don't go we should do something' and I was like freaking out! Adam wants to hang out with me!"

"Oh my God!" I said. "When did that happen?"

"Like five minutes before you called me."

"What? How did you not tell me sooner?"

"I wanted to hear about the Burger King guy! Duh. And anyway, we probably won't even hang out anyway so it's whatever."

"Why wouldn't you hang out?" I asked. "You obviously like him and he said he wanted to do something…"

"Yeah, but people do that all the time. They say they want to hang out sometime and it just never happens. Like when my dad's always making plans with the neighbors to have a block party. They talk about it all the time and they're all like 'ok, yeah, I'll call you tomorrow about it and we'll plan it' and then the phone just never rings."

"When people do that, they probably all just secretly hate each other, so why would they want to have a block party where they'd be force to spend time together? This is completely different."

"How?"

"Well, yesterday, did Adam ask for your number or did you ask for his?" I asked as I inched towards Burger King guy. He was carefully inspecting a toaster.

"He asked for mine…"

"And did you text him first or did he text you first?"

"He texted me first."

"Well there you go."

"I'm lost."

I rolled my eyes. "We already know that you like Adam. That's no secret. And although it's impossible to read Adam's mind to see if he likes you, I'd say it's pretty obvious. He's a guy, and therefore, a simpleton. If he didn't want your number, he wouldn't have asked for it, and if he didn't want to talk to you, he wouldn't have texted you first."

"That's true," Phil said thoughtfully.

The Burger King guy abandoned the toaster and moved to the clothing part of the store where he looked at dress shirts and ties.

"Ok, so you have nothing to worry about then," I told him. "So text him back, tell him you like him, go on a few dates, and in a few years you'll be married with some pretty babies, one of which will be named Seth junior."

He laughed. "I promise that'll be the name of my first born."

"Too bad I don't have a gender neutral name. It's going to be really awkward with a daughter named Seth…"

"So what's the status on commercial guy?"

"Ugh, all his commercial money is going to waste," I answered. "Who buys clothes from the same store they could buy a washing machine? It's just weird."

"Ew," he said. "Although do we really expect commercial actors to have more class?"

"I guess not," I sighed. I pretended to look at watches while he paid for his blue shirt and yellow tie. "It's a pity. He's really cute too."

"I want to know who it is!" He said. "Why don't I watch more TV? Oh, that's right, because my crazy mother is always hogging it! Jesus, you'd think my dad would just have the decency to buy me my own. Now I have to go do other things like…read."

I smiled to myself. Phil liked to pretend he wasn't an intellectual person, when in reality I knew reading was one of his favorite things. He was something Roman and I liked to call a 'closet nerd.' Phil didn't find it as comical as we did.

"You poor thing," I said.

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "But actually, she's at your house right now, so I have the TV to myself for once!"

I heard some noise in the background, which I assumed was Phil turning on the TV. I groaned. "Great, that means they're being all weird over at my house."

"Well, at least we'll be eighteen soon, so we can move out. I'm thinking a penthouse. Couldn't you see us in a penthouse? I can. I'm picturing us looking out from the penthouse window on the…80th floor and seeing all the people looking like little ants walking around way below us. Wouldn't that be great? I'm decorating it in my mind."

"Have you ever considered being a writer?" I joked. "Or maybe interior designer?"

"Which of those pays better?" he asked. "Because I'm pretty sure that pent houses are a little out of our price range. And I highly doubt Kirk would give us a pay raise…"

"That's because Kirk is like a mother and money is his baby. You know how when children get run over the mothers get super human strength and lift the car off of their kids? Kirk would probably be able to lift up the entire eighty floor pent house you were talking about just to retrieve a few dollars that might be underneath."

"So true," Phil said. "I wonder how Betsy can afford her meth addiction on her salary."

I rolled my eyes thinking of our manager. "She probably deals."

"I found him!" Phil suddenly yelled.

"What?"

"I found him!"

"Who?"

"Burger King guy! You said he had dimples, dark brown hair and a goatee, right? Is he shortish and had longer hair in the front than the back? And he kind of has a lopsided smile? Oh! And if this is him, then he has a super low voice."

"That's definitely him!" I said.

"The commercial's on right now! This day is amazing!" He said. "Huh. Ever noticed how we get really excited by stupid things?"

"That's pretty much our entire lives," I agreed.

Burger King guy took his receipt and his bag from the cashier. He was about to walk out when he turned around suddenly. He smiled at me, winked, then walked out.

I smiled. "It's so worth it though."


	25. Chapter 24

**Final chapter in this story! There will be an epilogue, and I have it written so I'll update it like straight after this! Thank you so much to everyone who read, favourited, followed, and reviewed! I didn't really think anyone would like this, and the fact that you all do really touches me. As I said before, this is the first story I've ever finished, and I'm just so grateful you all read it. Thanks 3 **

* * *

The day of the wedding approached faster than I thought it would. Although it was supposed to be a great, wonderfully happy day (for Beth at least), it wasn't such a happy day for John, Roman, Phil and I. John and Roman had to wake Phil and me up, as we had slept in late. Then, we all fussed around with hair products and clothes to make sure we were all decent.

By the time we were all finished, Constance, Paul, and Greg were standing at the bottom of the stairs impatiently.

"Seth, you seriously need to think of other people!" Constance exclaimed hurriedly as we shuffled out the front door. "This is your cousin's big day and you're going to make us late! Ugh, my phone is blowing up with Beth's texts and calls."

"Sorry Constance," I sincerely said. I do admit, I feel a little bad about making us late, but then again, it was Constance. And Beth. They seem to always have a way of working things out.

As we all piled into the car, Paul sighed very intolerably. "Seth, aren't you forgetting something?" he paused for a moment while I sat in the cargo area at the back of the car. I was squished in there with Phil while John, Roman and Greg sat awkwardly in the row of seats in front of us—all five of us wearing uncomfortable suites. "Dean! Seth, you forgot Dean!"

"Shit!" I swore, climbing out of the back of the car. I hadn't even seen Dean today. The morning had been so rushed that I just thought he was in the midst of it somewhere. Now that I actually looked back on it, he wasn't in the middle of it.

I ran inside and yelled his name, thinking of places he could be. When I ran into my room, a note in front of the picture I had put up of Dean and I was attached.

I quickly rushed over, snatched the note up, and read it;

Seth-

So if you can't already tell by my handwriting, it's Dean. I just wanted to tell you about how much you mean to me and how much I love you. If it hadn't have been for that fateful day when you were left behind by your so-called 'friends' and you sat by me in that alley, I probably wouldn't even be here. That creepy guy that was always trying to steal my bed would have most likely done something to me by now, ha-ha. Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm writing this note.

It's because I'm leaving, Seth.

You showed me that you actually cared about me. Right as I was about to give up, you stepped in and helped me. After you gave me so much, it reminded me about how much I haven't done anything for you. I just kind of lived here and I feel like I took advantage of your house and family. I never gave you anything in return. I feel so terrible about that and that's one reason why I'm leaving. Because I don't think I'll ever do anything enough to repay you.

I've also left because I need to find Kelly. She means so much to me and I honestly can't live without at least knowing that she's OK. Don't get me wrong, Seth, you are so important to me, too, but Kelly is my sister. I need to find her.

I'm so sorry Seth. I'm sorry I can't tell you this in person, it's just that I need to leave now. You're sleeping and I know that if I woke you up, I couldn't bear seeing your reaction. I know you would cry—like I am right now, see the blotches on the paper?—and beg me to stay, but I just can't.

I love you so, so, SO much Seth. I don't think you'll ever know how much you mean to me. I'm afraid if I stay any longer, I'll hurt you and mess things up just like I do with everything and everyone else. I know I'm hurting you with this note, and I'm so sorry, but just think—you can find someone else than just dumb old Dean Ambrose.

Tell the others I love them. And I'm sorry, but I took the other one of this picture. Hope you don't mind, but I needed to keep it.

Believe me when I say, you'll find someone that will stay with you and doesn't have so many problems. You'll find someone who will love you so much. You'll marry that someone and adopt many kids. I know you'll find happiness without me. Just remember me, and never forget our wonderful memories, OK?

We won't ever see each other again. But just remember that I'll never forget you. I love you, Seth. I love you so much.

-Dean


	26. Epilogue

**This is the end. Please don't hate me. **

* * *

**2 years later**

Seth Rollins walked around the nearly empty streets of his hometown, breathing in the air that somehow was nicer than the air in Chicago. He walked past an old souvenir store that had closed down long ago, and passed a two dollar shop. He walked, and he walked, until he finally came across where he had wanted to be.

Subway.

It was exactly two years, to that very day, since Seth had met Dean, since the brown had met the blue, since their worlds had collided and changed for the better.

Seth made his away round the back of the building, and the memories collided with him like an avalanche. God, how had two years passed? It seemed like nearly yesterday, when his 'friends' had ditched him, and he had stumbled across Dean in the alleyway.

He sat down with his head against the wall and sighed. Two years had passed, and not a day had gone by when he didn't think about Dean. He was now in college with Phil in Chicago, studying Art and Tech Graphics. If he was completely honest, he still had no idea what he was going to do with his life after school, but Art and Tech Graphics were the classes he wanted to do, so he did them.

He pulled out an old crumpled photo from his wallet, and shook his head as he stared down at it. It was the picture of him and Dean, the first one he'd ever taken. He smiled and tears came to his eyes. Dean had the other one. Seth wasn't sure about a lot of things when it came to Dean, but he was sure he would keep the photo.

He ran through all the memories in his head; their first meeting, Dean staying at his house, the party, their first kiss, Garage, and God, the talking. They could talk for hours, about anything and everything, and they did. Millions of conversations he had had with him, and then two years without him. It just wasn't fair. You can't make someone fall in love with you, and then leave without saying goodbye.

Seth remembered when Dean had first gone. He didn't believe it; he went to the wedding, and the realisation didn't hit in till a few days later, when he realised Dean was gone and never coming back. He continued his life in a numb sort of way, eating just enough to survive, sleeping most of the time, working at Triple Strike, and for a while he managed it. Not talking to anyone, not remembering anything.

Then, about two weeks after the wedding, the pain kicked in. Every single second, every agonising second, the pain got worse and worse, until he could no longer handle it. He flipped out, went slightly crazy, and began to self-harm. The physical pain took away the pain in his head, but nothing could help the pain in his heart.

A few weeks before the end of the summer, Phil noticed his cuts. He didn't say anything, he just hugged him for a long, long time. And Phil told his parents, and his parents got him a therapist, and slowly, slowly he began to put his life back together.

He would never be the same again. And he knew it. But he was okay with that. People told him to just forget about Dean, but they just didn't understand. He didn't want to forget. He wanted to remember forever, he wanted to be able to cherish the memories when he was older. He wanted to be able to look back, and look at the photos and remember everything. He wanted to be able to think of Dean, and say that was my first love. Not my first heartbreak. My first love.

_まちぼうけ(Machibouke)~ a unique Japanese word that describes the feeling of waiting for someone you know isn't coming back._

Seth would move on with his life, he'd finish college, get a job, hopefully meet someone nice and settle down and have a family.

But he'd always wait for Dean. Even if he knew he wasn't coming back.

* * *

Dean Ambrose walked down the street he used to be so familiar with. He walked past a souvenir shop, past a two dollar shop, until he finally came to the alley round the back of Subway. He sat down against the wall, the exact same wall where Seth Rollins had been not even twenty minutes ago.

He took out a crumpled picture, the only picture he had. It was of him and Seth, the picture from the bowling alley. Sometimes he felt a slight bit bad about taking it, but he knew Seth had two copies, he had explained it all to him. And, besides, without the picture, he might start to forget Seth, and that was something he never wanted to do.

He owed Seth his life, and he knew it. He just felt bad for leaving before he had a chance to properly thank him. And apologise. And tell him he loved him.

Exactly two years ago, he had met Seth, he had talked to him, and Seth had undoubtedly saved his life. Things were so different now. He had gone to Florida, and stayed there for about a year before he finally stopped searching for Kelly. It wasn't that he was giving up, he was just moving on. He hoped Seth would do the same thing for him.

Now he had a steady job in a comic shop in the middle of Chicago, and although it didn't pay loads, it was enough for him to rent a small flat, and have enough food to survive happily. And the other two guys who worked there were pretty nice too.

He hadn't seen or heard anything about Seth since he left two years ago, but he had seen Phil. Twice. Once he just caught a glimpse of him on the other side of the road. And it was undoubtedly him. He had his dark hair gelled back, and had a good few tattoos as well, but it was still definitely him.

The second time he saw him was in the comic book shop. Phil came in one day, while Dean has been stocking comics in the back. Dean had saw him from the crack in the door, and hid out there till Phil had gone. He couldn't see him. He couldn't see any of them ever again. It just wasn't fair to them. To talk to them, to act as if everything was fine, when he knew he would undoubtedly just leave them and hurt them again.

He knew Seth was in Chicago; he had always planned on going to the same school as Phil, and if Phil was there, then Seth would be there as well. Even after a couple of years, Dean knew they would still be inseparable.

It killed him sometimes, being so close and not being able to talk to them. He knew if he tried to find Seth, he would be able to, as it's much easier to track down a person when you know where they are.

He stared at the picture for a while, his eyes tracing over Seth's two-toned hair, his brilliant smile and his beautiful eyes. God, he was so perfect. And they both looked so happy. So genuinely happy. He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

Dean would move on, if he was lucky he would become a co-owner of the shop, he'd get a better flat, he'd find someone nice, and hopefully settle down and have a nice life.

But he'd always love Seth. Even if he knew he couldn't go back.

* * *

But there would come a time when they would start to forget, when Dean would wake up and find he couldn't remember which side of Seth's hair was blonde and which was black, and when Seth would find he couldn't recall the exact shade of Dean's eyes.

And there would come a time, when two five year old boys would meet each other as they walked into their first day of school and asked each other their names.

"I'm Seth, Seth Ambrose,"

"Dean Rollins,"


	27. Chapter 27

This story is now over, so I'm starting a new ambrollins one called Letters to a Rich Kid!

Go check it out!

Ciara x


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